THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Mit;Qi<< 


HARTON 


MIES 


p 


WINTER  SPORTS  at 

HUNTINGTON  LAKE  LODGE 

in  the  HIGH  SIERRAS 


Tne  Story  of  tne  First  Annual  Ice  and  Snow  Carnival 

of  tne  Commercial  Club  of  Fresno 

California 

Sj;  GEORGE  WHARTON  JAMES 


Pasadena,  California 

THE  RADIANT  LIFE  PRESS 
1Q16 


CopyrigKt  i<ji6 

by 

EDITH  E.  FARNSWORTH 


To  tKe  party  of  sixty-^ve  memljers 
of  tKe 

COMMERCIAL  CLUB  OF  FRESNO 

a  party  without  a  groucK,  or  a  kicker 

M?ho  made 

TKe  First  Annual   Ice  and  Sno'v?  Carnival 

at 

Huntington  Lake 

tKe  great  success  it  ■v^as 

tKese  pages  are  cordially  dedicated 

b^J  {Keir  guest   and  friend 

George  WKarton  James. 


LIBRARY 


List  of  Part9 


The  Boosters  of  the  Fresno  Commercial  Club 
and  their  guests,  who  made  up  the  party  for  the 
First  Annual  Winter  Carnival  at  Huntington  Lake 
Lodge : 


FROM  FRESNO 

Anderson,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B.  M. 

Anderson,  Elmer  A. 

Bergh,  S.  \V. 

Hopkins,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  E.  L. 

Hopkins,  Miss  Evelvn 

Busweil,  J.  M. 

Chamberlain,  Mrs.  H.  I. 

Cooper,  N.  Ray 

Compton,  VV.  I. 

Clausen,  Walter  Berten 

Einstein,  Mrs.  Louis 

Einstein,   Miss  Elsa 

Einstein,  Lesley 

Einstein,  Edwin 

Epstein,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ben 

Frutiger,  Mrs.  W.  A. 

Goodman,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  J.  B. 

Goodman,  Miss  Ruth 

Hasseibach,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  A. 

Jones,  Hayden 

Kutner,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Louis 

Laval,  C.  C. 

Laval,  Miss  Lorraine 

Leyden,  E.  A. 

Matlock,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W.  L. 

Meisenheimer,  Miss  B. 

Miller,  Miss  Alice 

Miller,  Miss  Margaret 

Mitchell,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W.  D. 

Nicholson,  A. 

Perraud,  L. 

Potter,  Craig  H. 

Stewart,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  C.  W. 

Sunderland,  Miss  Netta 

Swift,  Miss  Gertrude 


Schubert,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  A.  W. 

Tilton,  Harold 

Thrane,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  R. 

Walcott,  Bert 

Waterman,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  G.  S. 

Waterman,  Miss  Katharine 

Waterman,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  J.  G. 

and  son 
Watson,  G.  Gaylord 
Winning,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  W.  P. 

and  son 

FROM  SELMA 
Nash,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W.  G. 
Scott,  Mrs.  L.  D. 
Scott,  Miss  Netta 
Wright,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  F.  B. 

FROM  MERCED 
Smith,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  J.  C. 
Smith,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  E.  E. 

FROM  CASCADA 
Lawton,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  R.  B. 
Bemis,  Dr. 

FROM  SAN  FRANCISCO 
Scott,  J.  J. 

FROM    LOS    ANGELES 
Munger,  D.  A. 

FROM  PASADENA 
James,  George  W^harton 

FROM   COALING  A 
Peeler,  Col.  R.L. 

FROM   OAKLAND 
Bundy,  Miss  M. 


SNOW  CARNIVAL  COMMITTEE 

J.  M.  Busweil,  Chairman 
F.  E.  Kidder  L.  W.  Wilson 


FOREWORD 

FOR  centuries  snow  and  rain  have  fallen  on  the 
High  Sierras  of  California  making  the  rills, 
brooklets,  streams  and  rivers  that,  through- 
out the  year,  pour  forth  their  vivifying  waters  into 
the  heart  of  the  thirsty  valleys  which  lie  toward  the 
Western  Sea.  Indians  have  roamed  over  these 
High  Sierras,  have  fished  and  bathed  in  these 
waters,  and  there  their  usefulness  seems  to  have 
ended.  But  the  resistless  Anglo-Saxon  invaded  the 
scene,  first  as  trapper,  then  as  miner,  cattle-man, 
lumberman,  fisherman,  lover  of  majestic  scenery, 
and  finally  as  conservator  of  the  mountain's  natural 
resources.  Among  other  of  these  resources  the 
greatest  was  found  to  be  the  potentialities  of  the 
waters  for  the  development  of  electric  energy.  In 
the  far-away  cities  of  the  valleys,  and  even  of  regions 
across  other  ranges  of  mountains  were  cities  of  rest- 
less, energetic  peoples  demanding  vast  supplies  of 
electricity  for  lighting  and  heating  their  homes, 
streets,  stores,  and  markets,  for  driving  their  street- 
cars,  automobiles,   machines   and  power  plants. 

Modern  Science  saw  in  the  Sierran  streams  the 
means  of  supplying  these  demands,  hence  it  linked 
hands  with  Capital  to  wrest  from  these  snow-born 
waters  the  electrical  energy  they  contained.  Roads 
were  engineered  and  built  into  the  mountains,  sites 
for  the  erection  of  gigantic  dams  were  chosen  which 
would  impound  great  masses  of  these  hitherto  vag- 
rant waters  and  thus  create  beautiful  lakes  in  the 
midst  of  scenic  glories  and  wonders  unsurpassed  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  Busy  men  came  and  blasted 
great    masses    of    granite    from    quarries    created 


by  the  Eternal;  then  the  roads  were  lined  with  steel 
— man's  track  for  the  iron  horse, — and  soon  loco- 
motives and  trains  of  cars  were  carrying  men  and 
supplies  for  the  more  rapid  prosecution  of  the  work 
in  these  once  unknown  mountain  recesses.  Like 
magic  the  dams  came  into  existence.  Modern  Alad- 
dins  flashed  their  lamps  and  buildings  equivalent  to 
the  palaces  and  temples  of  antiquity  sprang  up,  in 
which  hydro-electric  power-plants  were  stored;  a 
large  lake  five  miles  long  and  a  mile  broad  ap- 
peared; tons  of  steel  for  towers,  and  tons  of 
steel-cored  aluminum  cable  for  transmission  lines 
were  supplied  to  the  hordes  of  busy  men, 
who  like  never-resting  ants  cut  wide  pathways 
through  the  trees,  up  and  down  canyons  and  ravines 
that  hitherto  had  felt  only  the  tread  of  the  foot  of 
panther,  lynx,  coyote  or  Indian.  Cement  bases  for 
great  towers  were  laid;  the  steel  beams  arose  in  air; 
the  lines  of  cable  were  stretched  up,  down,  across, 
ten,  twenty,  fifty,  a  hundred,  two  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  to  far-away  Los  Angeles,  the  growing 
metropolis  of  California  of  the  South.  In  the  mean- 
time an  84-inch  pipe,  tapering  down  to  24  inches, 
built  to  resist  nine  hundred  pounds  pressure,  was 
laid,  reaching  from  the  lake — which  had  already 
been  named  after  the  chief  capitalist  interested  in 
the  project,  Huntington  Lake — twenty-one  hundred 
and  three  feet  below  to  where  the  power-house 
stood.  Here  were  placed  on  solid  granite  founda- 
tions four  water-wheels,  directly  connected  with 
two  generators  of  42,500  horsepower. 

When  all  was  ready  it  remained  to  see  if  Nature 
and  Science  had  so  far  worked  together  that  when 
the  water  was  allowed  to  come  dashing  down  the 
pipe  upon  the  great  wheels,  they  would  generate  the 
power  and  transmit  it  to  the  eagerly  awaiting  sta- 
tions in  far-away  Los  Angeles.  Many  innovations 
had  been  ventured  upon;  great  interests  were  at 
stake;  Science  and  Commerce  alike  waited  the  fate- 
ful moment  with  profound  intentness. 


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The  signal  was  given,  the  waters  flowed,  the 
wheels  moved,  the  dynamos  began  to  hum,  the  meters 
began  to  show  the  development  of  power,  and, 
more  wonderful  than  the  magic  of  the  past,  in  a  few 
moments,  Los  Angeles  felt  the  thrill  at  the  Sierra's 
heart  and  began  to  blaze  and  burn  and  throb  with 
the  transmitted  energy.  The  miraculous  was  ac- 
complished, and  at  once  took  its  place  as  another 
step  in  the  upward  climb  of  man  to  the  stars. 

Now  entered  another  element  upon  the  scene. 
The  newly-created  Lake  had  given  an  added  de- 
light, charm  and  beauty  to  the  solemn  and  inspiring 
majesty  of  gigantic  and  snow-clad  mountain  peaks, 
the  dignity  of  heaven-aspiring  trees,  and  the  dainty 
beauty  of  shrubs  and  flowers.  Why  not  make  it 
possible  for  the  business-weary  men  and  women  of 
the  cities  of  the  plains  to  come  hitherward  and  enjoy 
all  that  Nature  could  here  confer  upon  them.  With 
these  men  to  decide  is  to  accomplish,  and  in  due 
time  Huntington  Lake  Lodge,  a  beautiful,  artistic, 
appropriate  and  commodious  modern  hotel  sprang 
into  being  under  the  pines,  immediately  overlooking 
the  Lake,  It  was  opened  July  4,  1915,  and  during 
its  first  summer  and  fall  season  many  guests  came 
to  enjoy  its  delightful  hospitality.  But  when  win- 
ter came — stern  winter,  with  Its  frost  and  snow,  its 
storms  and  cold,  the  peoples  of  the  valley  fled  to 
their  homes.  For  awhile  it  seemed  that  this  hospit- 
able Lodge  would  be  deserted  during  the  winter 
months.  Then  people  began  to  take  fresh  counsel. 
Elsewhere  in  the  world  men  and  women,  young  men 
and  maidens  found  health,  enjoyment,  delight, 
vigor  and  new  life  in  the  snow.  Why  not  here? 
These  valleys  were  valleys  of  almost  perpetual 
summer.  Here,  close  at  hand,  beneficient  Nature 
invited  to  the  joys  and  blessings  of  winter.  She 
said:  "Come  to  my  snow-clad  mountains,  my 
snow-laden  trees,  my  snow-covered  slopes.  Come 
to  my  winter  play-ground.  Come  and  be  children 
again,  as  you  snow-ball  each  other,  slide  down  my 


mountain  sides,  skate  over  my  lakes,  walk  in  your 
snow-shoes  and  glide  on  your  skis  over  my  moun- 
tain snow-fields.  Come,  and  I  will  renew  your 
youth  and  send  you  back  to  your  valley  occupations 
like  giants  refreshed  with  new  wine." 

The  pages  that  follow  record  the  story  of  the 
first  party  to  accept  this  invitation.  It  was  one  of 
the  perfect  parties  that  show  how  happy  man  can 
be  with  his  brother  when  he  desires  to  be.  It  was  a 
joyous  and  glorious  contrast  to  the  awful  hell  of 
fierce  war  raging  on  the  other  side  of  the  earth,  for 
while  German  and  English,  Austrian  and  French, 
Pole  and  Slav  were  to  be  found  in  the  party,  there 
were  no  other  notes  heard  than  those  of  kindness,  of 
helpfulness,  of  brotherliness,  of  love.  Hence  it  has 
been  a  joy  to  place  on  record  the  story  of  those  do- 
ings in  which  I  was  privileged  to  share. 


Cascada,  February  22,  1916. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SAN  JOAQUIN 

MOUNTAINS  vary  as  much  as  men.  Some 
are  easy  to  reach,  easily  conquered,  easily 
understood,  because  they  have  easy  ap- 
proach, no  steep  ascents  to  climb,  no  fearfully  pre- 
cipitous gorges  to  cross,  no  raging  torrents  to  ford, 
no  boulder-strewn  passages  to  assay,  no  snow-clad 
slopes  to  overcome,  no  dense  undergrowth  to  cut 
through.  Others  possess  one  or  all  of  the  qualities 
or  difficulties  enumerated,  with  additional  obstacles 
of  their  own,  which  make  their  ascent  achievements 
of  which  men  justifiably  are  proud.  It  is  one  of  the 
glories  of  this  century  that  men  have  been  more 
daring  and  successful  than  ever  in  scaling  mountain 
summits.  Mountain  climbers  have  ascended  prac- 
tically all  the  hitherto  unknown  peaks,  and  a  woman, 
Miss  Annie  Peck,  has  added  her  achievement  as  one 
of  the  greatest  of  them  all. 

The  California  Sierra  Nevadas  are  not  as  high 
and  imposing  as  the  Andes  or  the  Himalayas,  but 
they  are  as  distinctive,  varied,  wonderful,  and  in- 
teresting. From  Mt.  Shasta  in  the  north,  to  Mt. 
Whitney  in  the  south,  they  set  forth  variances  that, 
to  those  familiar  with  them,  make  them  seem  as 
though  the  different  areas  could  not  belong  to  the 
same  range.  There  is  as  much  difference  between 
the  Tahoe  region,  with  its  innumerable  glacial  lakes, 
and  the  Shasta  region,  with  its  fierce  lava-flows,  as 
there  is  between  the  Mt.  Whitney  region,  or  the 
Mono  region,  and  that  of  the  San  Joaquin.  Kern 
and  Kings  Rivers  Canyons  are  wild,  rugged  gorges, 

[1] 


but  they  are  of  an  entirely  different  character  from 
the  Yosemite  or  the  Hetch-Hetchy,  While  there 
are  characteristics  in  our  Sierras  that  are  similar 
throughout,  these  differentiations  are  what  make 
each  region  so  attractive  in  its  individual  person- 
ality. 

Then,  too,  the  motives  that  lead  men  to  a  con- 
quering of  mountain  areas  are  as  varied  as  are  the 
mountains  themselves.  Wherever  timber  is  of  reas- 
onably easy  access  that  in  itself  is  a  lure,  as  is  shown 
in  the  rapid  denudation  of  the  forests  around  Lake 
Tahoe,  for  the  supplying  of  the  timber-needs  of  the 
Virginia  City  and  other  mines,  in  Nevada;  in  the 
vast  lumbering  interests  now  going  on  around  Mt. 
Shasta  and  elsewhere  in  the  Sierras.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  was  its  purely  scenic  features  that  were  the 
chief  and  first  inducements  to  the  opening  up  of 
roads  into  the  Yosemite  Valley.  The  trapping  of 
fur-bearing  animals;  mining;  hunting;  sheep-herd- 
ing; cattle-raising;  the  impounding  of  mountain- 
streams  for  irrigation  purposes — these  have  taken 
men  in  greater  or  lesser  numbers  into  the  moun- 
tains. But  it  is  only  recently,  since  the  modern 
developments  of  electricity,  that  water,  for  the  gen- 
eration of  electric  power,  has  been  the  lure  to  lead 
men  to  study  every  mountain  gorge,  every  valley, 
every  detail  of  watershed,  and  to  seek  out  the  most 
favorable  locations  for  the  establishment  of  dams, 
reserv^oirs,  and  power-houses. 

It  is  to  this  latter  feature  that  we  owe  the  open- 
ing up  of  the  Sierras  in  the  region  of  the  San  Joa- 
quin River,  as  the  next  chapter  will  show. 

The  railway — first  the  Southern  Pacific  from 
Fresno,  in  the  heart  of  the  San  Joaquin  Valley,  to 
El  Prado,  and  then  the  San  Joaquin  and  Eastern, 
curving  and  climbing  fifty-six  miles  to  Cascada — 
deposits  you  in  the  very  heart  of  the  range.  For 
miles  one  rides  in  sight  of  the  San  Joaquin  River, 
with  its  wide  basin-like  slopes.  In  one  magnificent 
[2] 


stretch  it  is  shut  in  by  the  granite  walls  of  its  Grand 
Canyon.  Sublimity  and  grandeur,  with  picturesque- 
ness  and  wide  expanse,  greet  the  eye  on  every  hand, 
but,  from  the  first  glimpse,  until  one  is  close  at  hand 
to  them,  the  towering  and  snow-covered  peaks  of 
the  High  Sierras  attract  the  attention.  When  one 
reaches  the  end  of  the  railway  at  Cascada  he  looks 
back  over  the  winding  way  he  has  come  and  then 
turns  to  view  the  great  power-house,  from  which 
comes  the  hum  and  whir  of  the  giant  water-wheels 
and  motors;  sees  the  incline  cable  railway  rising 
two  thousand  feet  in  direct  ascent  to  six  thousand 
feet  of  length,  and  up  which  all  the  material  for 
the  construction  of  the  concrete  dams  was  raised; 
and  then  the  great  steel  pipe — penstock  they  call  it 
— down  which  the  water  flows  from  the  lake  above 
to  make  the  water-wheels  and  motors  hum. 

Towering  over  all,  and  dominating  the  scene,  is 
a  majestic  mass  of  granite,  some  eighteen  hundred 
feet  high,  its  crown  smoothed  and  shaped  by  the 
overflowing  glaciers  of  a  long-past  age,  reminding 
one  somewhat  of  the  glacier-polished  towers  of  the 
Yosemite.  This  is  named  the  Kerckhoff  Dome, 
after  one  of  the  associates  of  Mr.  Huntington,  in 
Los  Angeles. 

The  final  touch  is  given  by  the  little  settlement  of 
Cascada,  where  the  various  employees  of  the  power 
plant  have  their  homes,  with  accompanying  store, 
hotel,  stables,  school,  etc.  This  is  also  a  well- 
known  and  popular  starting-point  for  the  summer 
tramper  in  the  mountains,  hundreds  of  people  com- 
ing up  from  the  valley  to  share  its  hospitality. 

But  we  are  desirous  of  reaching  Huntington  Lake 
and  the  commodious  Lodge  that  stands  upon  its 
shore  two  thousand  feet  above,  so,  taking  stage, 
automobile,  or  Sierra-plane — according  to  the  sea- 
son— we  speedily  find  ourselves  winding  along  over 
the  four  miles  of  well-engineered  road  that  finally 
brings  us  to  the  place  of  our  heart's  desire.     Here, 

[3] 


we  wake  up  to  a  full  realization  of  the  glories  of 
the  High  Sierras. 

At  our  feet  lies  the  sparkling  clear  water  of 
Huntington  Lake,  made  by  damming  the  gorge 
down  which  the  mountain  stream  used  to  dash  in 
unrestrained  exuberance.  Nearly  five  miles  long 
and  from  a  half  to  a  full  mile  wide,  it  is  one  of  the 
crystal  gems  of  the  Sierras.  Towering  above  it,  to 
the  northeast,  is  the  long,  winding,  jagged  ridge  of 
Kaiser  Crest,  varying  in  height  from  9,000  to 
10,300  feet,  where  snow  generally  may  be  found  a 
large  part  of  the  year.  What  a  glorious  galaxy  of 
majestic  peaks  surrounds  us.  Shut-eye  (8,358  feet), 
and  Little  Shut-eye  (8,353  feet),  peaks  that  recall 
Indian  legends,  are  to  the  northwest,  while  Red 
Mountain,  Bear  Butte,  Chinese  Peak,  Tamarack 
Mountain,  are  all  close  at  hand. 

Climb  a  little,  to  where,  on  Kaiser  Crest,  a  clear 
outlook  Is  obtained  in  every  direction,  and  then  peak 
after  peak  comes  into  view.  Yonder  to  the  north- 
east are  Pincushion  Peak  (9,817  feet),  Sharktooth 
Peak  (11,630  feet),  and  Double  Peak  (10,637 
feet),  all  huddled  together,  with  Graveyard  Peak 
(11,584  feet),  hustling  them  a  trifle  to  the  south- 
east, and  the  ridge  of  the  Silver  Divide,  with  its 
chief  Silver  Peak  (11,497  feet),  leading  the  eye 
on  to  the  mountains  of  the  Big  Four — the  men  of 
power  and  genius,  of  Indomitable  will  and  energy, 
who  constructed  the  Central  Pacific  Railway  over 
the  Sierras — Mt.  Huntington  (12,393  feet),  Mt. 
Crocker  (12,448  feet),  Mt.  Stanford  (12,826  feet), 
and  Mt.  Hopkins  (12,300  feet).  Almost  hiding 
Mts.  Crocker  and  Stanford  Is  the  Red  and  White 
Mountain  (12,646  feet),  while  beyond,  just  on  the 
borders  of  Mono  and  Inyo  Counties,  Is  an  unnamed 
peak  towering  11,888  feet  into  the  Sierran  blue, 
and  still  another,  nearly  as  high  (11,752  feet)  a 
little  to  the  north. 

Ranjrlng  southward,  there  come  In  succession  Vol- 
[4] 


canlcKnob  ( 1 1,153  feet),  Mt.  Mills  ( 13,352  feet), 
Mt.  Morgan  (13,739  feet),  Mt.  Abbott  (13,736 
feet),  Mt.  Dade  (13,635  feet),  Mt.  Gabb  (13,701 
feet),  Mt.  Hilgard  (13,351  feet),  and  Bear  Creek 
Spine  (13,702  feet),  each  one  a  monarch  in  its  own 
power  and  dominating  personality.  Yet  even  this 
sublime  group  does  not  close  the  list,  for  nearer  to 
us,  a  little  southward,  are  Mt.  Hooper  (12,322 
feet),  the  Seven  Gables,  flanked  by  the  Four  Gables, 
the  latter  nearly  13,000  feet  in  height;  Mt.  Senger 
(12,253  feet),  Turret  Peak  (12,060  feet),  behind 
which  is  the  striking  north  and  south  ridge  of  The 
Pinnacles  (12,264  feet),  while  beyond  them  are 
Pilot  Knob  (12,237  feet),  Mt.  Humphreys  (13,972 
feet)  and  Mt.  Emerson  ( 13,226  feet) ,  with  Pavilion 
Dome  (11,365  feet),  well  towards  the  south.  Here 
the  Glacier  Divide  demands  attention,  and  just 
below,  one  after  another,  the  trained  eye  descerns 
Mt.  Lamarck  (13,202  feet),  Mt.  Wallace  (13,701 
feet).  Emerald  Peak  (12,517  feet).  The  Hermit 
(12,341  feet),  Mt.  Darwin (12,782  feet),Mt.  Spen- 
cer (12,428  feet),  Mt.  Haeckel  (over  12,000  feet), 
Mt.  McGee  (12,966  feet),  Mt.  Huxley  (13,124 
feet),  Mt.  Fiske,  Mt.  Powell  and  Mt.  Thompson, 
all  well  up  to  the  13,000  feet  mark.  Even  these  do 
not  complete  the  roster,  for  a  little  further  to  the 
south  are  Mt.  Goddard  (13,553  feet),  Mt.  Goode 
(13,312  feet),  Langille  Peak  (11,981  feet).  Black- 
cap Mt.  (11,559  feet),  Mt.  Reinstein  (12,595 
feet),  Scylla  (12,943  feet),  and  Charybdis  (12,935 
feet),  Peaks,  with  Finger  Peak  (12,401  feet).  Blue 
Canyon  Peak  (11,956  feet),  Mt.  Woodworth 
(12,214  feet),  and  Devil's  Crag  (12,612  feet), 
clustered  together,  still  further  to  the  south  and  east. 

As  one  sees  these  snow-clad  summits  and  the 
clouds  trailing  out  in  delicate  loveliness,  as  banners 
of  white  light,  from  their  stern  solidity,  or  wreath- 
ing them  in  half-hiding,  half-revealing  veiling,   he 

[5] 


can  understand  how  they  became  to  Joaquin  Miller 
tlie  monuments  of  the  California  pioneers: 

Worn  victors,  few  and  true,  such  clouds 
As  track  God's  trailing  garment's  hem 
Where  Shasta  keeps  shall  be  your  shrouds, 
And  ye  shall  pass  the  stars  in  them. 
Your  tombs  shall  be  while  Time  endures, 
Such  hearts  as  only  Truth  secures ; 
Your  everlasting  monuments 
Sierra's  snow-topt  battle  tents. 

And,  to  me,  it  is  a  soul-filling  joy  that  man  did 
not  erect  these  monuments.  They  are  the  work  of 
God,  of  Nature,  of  the  great  Creative  Force,  whose 
manifestations  of  power  ever  keep  man's  mentality 
engaged.  It  was  appropriate  that  these  sublime 
peaks — rather  than  any  man  made  monuments — 
should  be  made  to  bear  the  names  of  those  indus- 
trious mental  geniuses  whose  gigantic  intellects  were 
devoted  to  a  life-study  of  the  handiworks  of  God, 
seeking  to  explain  them  to  their  less-endowed  broth- 
ers. It  was  well  that  Huxley,  Tyndall,  Darwin, 
Spencer,  Fiske,  Powell  and  the  rest  should  be 
recalled  in  this  western  land  of  striving  for  material 
things,  in  order  that  their  glorious  example  should 
not  be  forgotten. 

Then,  too,  who  that  has  a  soaring  spirit,  an  adven- 
turous soul,  with  strong  physical  body  to  match,  does 
not  feel  the  stirring  to  climb  such  alluring  summits? 
Who  would  not  rival  the  eagle  and  stand  on  the 
highest  peaks,  looking  off  into  space,  obtaining 
expansive  views  that  the  mediocre  spirits  of  less 
ambitious  bodies  may  never  see?  How  one's  heart 
thrills  in  reading  Clarence  King's  "Ascent  of  Mt. 
Tyndall,"  in  his  Mountaineering  in  the  Sierra  Ne- 
vada, or  John  Muir's  perilous  climb  up  Mt.  Ritter, 
given  in  his  Mountains  of  California.  And  how 
one  responds  to  the  manliness  these  mountain  heights 
seem  lo  bring  out.  King  tells,  in  his  "Descent  of 
Mt.  Tyndall,"  of  a  place  where  he  and  his  com- 
[6] 


»'••  W^--''     -''^^^M 

'■f--'^r>^'^''i''-      ■'Sfe^»^''~ 

Efi^nK^    -  •  jpM'"^  ■JJ^lfT" 

H^^^  ^^^3^Br^§1IlF       " ..  ^.^^^^^^BflF^  ^ 

HKr^^^^HJi^Q^Ss^ttv^      ^^^^^^^HP^^^      «« 

■'On  the  Trail,"  Going  on  a  Camping-Out  Trip  near  Huntington  Lake 


Lumber    Flume,    Rounding   the   Cliffs   of  the   San   Joaquin    .Sierraus 


■■•••1 

^ 

i 

V     ^^^^T 

^^^H 

r^^ 

^ 

^H 

1 

1 

l^p 

^n 

1 

1 

A   Successful   Hunter  in  the   San  Joaquin   Sierras 


I 


"An   Exciting   Moment,"      Fishing   in    the    San   Joaquin    Sierras 


panion,  Cotter,  came  to  an  upward  climb  of  forty 
feet  of  smooth  granite  "which  lay  between  us  and 
safety."     Let  me  quote  briefly: 

As  we  tied  ourselves  together,  I  told  Cotter  to  hold  him- 
self in  readiness  to  jump  down  into  one  of  the  several  crev- 
ices riven  into  the  rock  a  few  inches  in  case  I  fell,  and  started 
to  climb  up  the  wall,  succeeding  quite  well  for  about  twenty 
feet.  About  two  feet  above  my  hands  was  a  crack,  which, 
if  my  arms  had  been  long  enough  to  reach,  would  probably 
have  led  me  to  the  very  top;  but  I  judged  it  beyond  my 
powers,  and,  with  great  care,  descended  to  the  side  of  Cotter, 
who  believed  that  his  superior  length  of  arm  would  enable 
him  to  make  the  reach. 

I  planted  myself  against  the  rock,  and  he  started  cau- 
tiously up  the  wall.  Looking  down  the  glare  front  of  ice,  it 
was  not  pleasant  to  consider  at  what  velocity  a  slip  would 
send  me  to  the  bottom,  or  at  what  angle,  and  to  what  prob- 
able depth,  I  should  be  projected  into  the  ice-water.  Indeed, 
the  idea  of  such  a  sudden  bath  was  so  annoying  that  I  lifted 
my  eyes  toward  my  companion.  He  reached  my  farthest 
point  without  great  difficulty,  and  made  a  bold  spring  for  the 
crack,  reaching  it  without  an  inch  to  spare,  and  holding  on 
wholly  with  his  fingers.  He  thus  worked  himself  slowly 
along  the  crack  toward  the  top,  at  last  getting  his  arms  over 
the  brink,  and  gradually  drawing  his  body  up  and  out  of 
sight.  It  was  the  most  splendid  piece  of  slow  gymnastics  I 
ever  witnessed.  For  a  moment  he  said  nothing;  but  when 
I  asked  if  he  was  all  right  cheerfully  repeated,  "All  right." 
It  was  only  a  moment's  work  to  send  up  the  two  knapsacks 
and  barometer,  and  receive  again  my  end  of  the  lasso.  As  I 
tied  it  round  my  breast,  Cotter  said  to  me,  in  an  easy,  confi- 
dent tone,  "Don't  be  afraid  to  bear  your  weight."  I  made 
up  my  mind,  however,  to  make  that  climb  without  his  aid, 
and  husbanded  my  strength  as  I  climbed  from  crack  to  crack. 
I  got  up  without  difficulty  to  my  former  point,  rested  there  a 
moment,  hanging  solely  by  my  hands,  gathered  every  pound 
of  strength  and  atom  of  will  for  the  reach,  then  jerked 
myself  upward  with  a  swing,  just  getting  the  tips  of  my 
fingers  into  the  crack.  In  an  instant  I  had  grasped  it  with 
my  right  hand  also.  I  felt  the  sinews  of  my  fingers  relax 
a  little,  but  the  picture  of  the  slope  of  ice  and  the  blue  lake 
far  below  affected  me  so  strongly  that  I  redoubled  mv  grip, 

[7] 


and  climbed  slowly  along  the  crack  until  I  reached  the  angle 
and  got  one  arm  over  the  edge  as  Cotter  had  done.  As  I 
rested  my  body  upon  the  edge  and  looked  up  at  Cotter,  I 
saw  that,  instead  of  a  level  top,  he  was  sitting  upon  a  smooth 
roof-like  slope,  where  the  least  pull  would  have  dragged  him 
over  the  brink.  He  had  no  brace  for  his  feet,  nor  hold  for 
his  hands,  but  had  seated  himself  calmly,  with  the  rope  tied 
around  his  breast,  knowing  that  my  only  safety  lay  in  being 
able  to  make  the  climb  entirely  unaided  ;  certain  that  the 
least  waver  in  his  tone  would  have  disheartened  me,  and 
perhaps  made  it  impossible.  The  shock  I  received  on  seeing 
this  affected  me  for  a  moment,  but  not  enough  to  throw  me 
ofiE  my  guard,  and  I  climbed  quickly  over  the  edge.  When 
we  had  walked  back  out  of  danger  we  sat  down  upon  the 
granite  for  a  rest. 

In  all  my  experience  of  mountaineering  I  have  never 
known  an  act  of  such  real,  profound  courage  as  this  of 
Cotter's.  It  is  one  thing,  in  a  moment  of  excitement,  to 
make  a  gallant  leap,  or  hold  one's  nerves  in  the  iron  grasp  of 
will,  but  to  coolly  seat  one's  self  in  the  door  of  death,  and 
silently  listen  for  the  fatal  summons,  and  this  all  for  a  friend, 
— for  he  might  easily  have  cast  loose  the  lasso  and  saved 
himself, — requires  as  sublime  a  type  of  courage  as  I  know. 

There !  Who  can  read  that  and  not  have  his  own 
heart  nerv^ed  to  a  higher  key  of  heroism?  These 
soaring  peaks  constantly  remind  me  of  this  and 
similar  daring  acts,  and  call  me  to  deeds  of  which 
before  I  should  have  been  Incapable. 

And  these  are  the  environment  of  Huntington 
Lake  Lodge.  Is  man  not  fortunate  that  such  a  sub- 
lime playground  has  been  made  easily  and  readily 
accessible  to  him?  Even  though  he  has  no  desire 
to  scale  these  peerless  summits,  they  must  have  a 
potent  and  deep  Influence  over  him;  no  one  can 
remain  long  In  their  noble  presence  unmoved  and 
uninfluenced.  Therefore  they  are  true  upllfters  of 
humanity,  pointers  out  of  the  higher  way. 

From  the  slopes  of  mountains  like  these  the  San 

Joaquin  River  has  Its  origin.      Glaciers,  and  beds  of 

ice  and  snow,  loading  the  shoulders  and  flanks  of 

granite  peaks,  pour  their  melting  waters  through  a 

[8] 


thousand  lesser  channels,  until  the  river  is  born.  The 
San  Joaquin  has  three  distinct  forks,  known  as  the 
West,  Middle  and  South  forks,  the  latter  being  the 
longest  and  the  most  important.  One  of  these, 
together  with  the  headwaters  of  Owen's  River,  and 
important  affluents  of  the  Merced  and  Tuolumne, 
all  have  their  rise  within  a  few  miles  of  Mt.  Ritter, 
one  of  the  giant  Sierran  family  and  from  the  summit 
of  which  marvellously  expansive  views  may  be  ob- 
tained. These  are  described  elsewhere,  yet  the 
visitor  to  Huntington  Lake  Lodge  should  never  for- 
get that  this,  and  all  the  peaks  I  have  mentioned,  are 
within  comparatively  easy  reach. 

What  a  soul-stirring  experience  it  is,  after  one  has 
climbed,  step  by  step,  with  or  without  such  danger- 
ous and  thrilling  excitements  as  that  quoted  from 
Clarence  King,  to  stand  on  one  of  these  sentinels  of 
our  Golden  State,  and  survey  the  landscape  o'er. 
The  first  impression  of  one  unused  to  such  sights  Is 
of  a  bewilderment  of  the  senses  caused  by  the  unex- 
ampled grandeur,  striking  sublimity,  and  illimitable 
expanse  before  him.  His  mind  Is  baffled,  confused, 
crowded.  There  Is  too  much  to  see,  and  he  is  too 
unused  to  such  a  marvellous  conglomeration  of  sub- 
limity and  grandeur  to  be  able  to  analyse  and  focal- 
ize. But  after  several  such  experiences,  after  he  has 
learned  to  separate  and  differentiate  between  the 
peaks,  to  know  the  appearance  of  glaciers,  and  to  see 
the  sun-kissed  fountains  bubbling  forth  as  if  eager  to 
form  the  rivers;  when  he  can  point  out  the  upper 
water-courses,  and  even  now  and  again  discern  the 
dashing  waterfalls  and  cascades,  and  follow  the 
streams  down  below  the  timber-line,  In  their  tortu- 
ous and  winding  ways,  to  the  far-away  valley,  little 
by  little  the  eternal  harmonies  of  the  mountains  steal 
into  his  soul.  He  sees  their  relation  one  to  another 
— the  barrier  peaks,  holding  the  moisture-laden 
clouds  and  demanding  that  they  get  rid  of  their 
burdens,  either  in  gently-falling  snow  or  pelting  rain; 

[9] 


the  great  glacier  beds  accumulating  during  the  cen- 
turies and  holding  the  moisture,  the  wooing  power 
of  the  sun,  releasing  the  water  drop  by  drop,  in  mil- 
lions of  millions  of  drops,  until  drops  become  rills, 
and  rills  rivulets,  rivulets  grow  into  creeks,  creeks 
into  brooks,  brooks  into  streams,  and  streams  into 
rivers.  These  we  can  follow,  part  of  the  way  with 
the  eye,  the  rest  of  the  way  in  imagination,  through 
their  wide  watersheds,  deep,  rugged  and  rocky  can- 
yon deeps,  into  the  blue  distance  of  the  western 
valley,  there  to  be  distributed  into  irrigation  canals, 
over  thousands  of  acres,  where  vines,  peaches,  apri- 
cots, prunes,  pears,  pomegranates,  oranges,  lemons, 
grapefruit  and  a  thousand  and  one  varieties  of  fruit 
trees  abound;  where  contented  kine  feed  happily  on 
lush  grasses  and  rich  alfalfa,  and  where  contented 
men  and  women  and  happy  children  rejoice  in  the 
gifts  of  God  in  this  highly  favored  land.  Here  and 
there,  as  at  Huntington  Lake,  one  sees  where  the 
water  is  diverted  and  used  for  awhile  for  other  pur- 
poses, ere  It  is  poured  back  again  into  its  natural 
channel.  On  the  wings  of  imagination  he  flies  over 
the  range,  mile  after  mile,  one  hundred,  two  hun- 
dred, nearly  two  hundred  and  fifty  of  them,  strung 
all  the  way,  on  skeleton  steel  towers,  with  heavy 
aluminum  cables,  and  he  sees  the  power  of  the 
waterfall,  the  rush  of  the  cascade,  the  dash  of  the 
confined  mountain  torrent  transformed  by  man's 
genius  and  skill  into  electric  energy,  moving  street- 
cars, charging  automobiles,  raising  and  lowering 
elevators  laden  with  human  freight,  with  bricks, 
mortar,  concrete,  steel  and  other  building  material, 
revolving  electric  fans,  working  sewing  machines, 
grindstones,  and  turning  a  thousand  and  one  variety 
of  wheels  all  for  the  benefit,  the  profit,  or  the  pleas- 
ure of  mankind. 

Over  in  another  direction  he  sees  the  water 
diverted  Into  a  lumber  flume,  which  winds  and 
curves,   twists   and  squirms  around  the  mountains' 

[10] 


shoulders,  down,  down,  down,  over  passes,  lifted  on 
stilts  over  deep  canyons  and  over  level  valleys,  until 
the  terminus  Is  reached  In  some  town  by  the  railway. 
He  sees  the  lumber,  cut  from  the  trees  of  the  giant 
forests, — which  he  is  only  just  now  beginning  to  take 
full  cognizance  of, — big,  square  timbers  suitable  for 
bridge-building  or  uprights  between  stories;  thick, 
heavy  planks;  thin  broad  planks;  planks  and  studs, 
joists  and  beams  of  every  kind,  guided  Into  the  V 
shaped  flume,  and  rapidly  carried  away  on  the  bosom 
of  the  water.  He  sees  it  on  Its  winding  and  almost 
silent  course,  until  it  reaches  the  terminus,  where 
the  pliant  water,  hitherto  used  as  a  carrier,  now 
pours  forth  Its  vivifying  flood  for  purposes  of  irriga- 
tion, while  the  lumber  Is  hauled  out  of  the  flume, 
stacked  up  to  dry,  and  then  shipped  by  railway  wher- 
ever It  Is  needed  to  aid  in  furthering  the  march  of 
progress. 

But  the  fisherman  sees  in  these  mountain  streams 
another  kind  of  sight.  His  vision  Imagines  the 
golden  trout,  the  rainbow  trout,  the  silver  trout,  the 
cut-throats  and  the  other  finny  creatures  of  dazzling 
beauty,  that  rise  to  the  fly  of  the  skillful  angler.  He 
gets  his  rod  and  reel,  his  flies  and  other  dudendums, 
puts  on  his  long-hipped  rubber  boots  and  starts 
forth.  He  makes  his  cast — but  how  shall  I,  an  igno- 
rant tyro,  dare  attempt  to  tell  what  and  how  he  does, 
the  excitement  of  the  strike,  the  skilful  handling  of 
his  catch  and  the  final  landing  on  the  bank? 

And  the  hunter!  He,  too,  sees  visions.  These 
peaks  don't  mean  so  much  to  him,  as  the  gray-green 
slopes  beneath;  the  woods,  the  forest,  the  dense 
chaparral.  There  may  be  a  bear  found,  once  in  a 
while,  on  the  heights,  but  his  heart  beats  to  the 
thought  of  deer.  His  taste  runs  to  venison  steak, 
broiled  over  a  camp-fire  and  smothered  in  well-fried 
onions,  or  to  stew,  made  to  simmer  until  everything 
Is  as  tender  as  scientific  cooking  can  make  it. 

The  tree  lover  sees  his  joy  in  the  unequaled  wealth 

[11] 


of  trees,  and  the  botanist  in  the  flowers,  shrubs, 
mosses  and  ferns  that  he  Is  assured  must  abound 
here,  while  the  geologist  sees  the  mysterious  opera- 
tions of  the  world's  birth  slowly  unfold  before  him, 
age  by  age,  epoch  by  epoch,  until  he  has  recon- 
structed the  range  in  imagination  from  its  first  incep- 
tion in  the  bed  of  the  primeval  ocean,  the  slow 
deposition  upon  the  parent  rock  of  the  disintegrated 
particles  that  have  made  sand-stone,  lime-stone  and 
the  like,  the  steady  and  persistent  uplift  through  the 
centuries,  until  it  was  no  longer  a  submerged  ridge, 
but  a  series  of  elevated  plateaus  and  peaks.  Then 
he  visions  the  downfall  of  the  snows  of  the  glacial 
epoch.  He  sees  these  beds  accumulate  until  they 
carry  thousands,  millions,  billions  of  tons  of  the 
fleecy  particles,  welded  together  by  the  heat  of  the 
sun  and  their  own  attraction  until  they  have  formed 
sheets  of  Ice  thousands  of  feet  thick,  and  moving 
with  irresistible  force  and  grinding  power  over  these 
once  water-smothered  mountain  peaks.  Centuries 
rolled  by,  and  the  swing  of  the  earth  upon  its  axis 
drove  away  the  glaciers,  but  left  the  records  of  their 
work,  in  the  grinding  of  the  domes  and  peaks,  carv- 
ing out  of  the  gullies,  ravines,  gorges,  canyons,  val- 
leys and  lake  beds.  In  which  later,  dainty,  exquisite, 
tree-surrounded,  pure-watered  lakes  were  born. 

Then  came  fierce  periods  of  earthquake  and  lava 
flow.  Great  craters  were  formed  on  some  of  the 
highest  ridges  and  from  them  poured  forth  floods 
of  andeslte  and  diorlte,  crowning  broad  and  wide 
areas  with  their  solid  lava  caps.  When  the  storms 
of  later  centuries  burst  upon  these  mountains,  many 
of  the  proudest  peaks  were  humbled  and  brought 
low,  others  that  had  received  these  lava  caps  were 
able  to  withstand  the  fury  of  storm  and  decay.  They 
refused  to  yield,  and  then  saw  their  once  high-tower- 
ing brothers  gradually  yield  to  the  gnawing  teeth  of 
time,   until   they   were   far   below   them   in   height, 

[12] 


planed  and  smoothed,  or  split  and  fractured  out  of 
all  semblance  to  their  original  majesty. 

Then  came  the  beginning  of  our  epoch,  the  age 
when  life  was  possible.  The  king  of  the  hell  of  cold 
had  wreaked  his  will,  with  his  glacier  blanket,  his 
fierce  winds  and  hails  and  storms  upon  the  region; 
had  given  way  to  the  king  of  the  hell  of  heat,  who 
had  belched  forth  his  flaming  floods  to  destroy  it;  but 
both  had  been  subdued,  and  now  the  king  of  the 
world  of  life  held  the  scepter. 

Trees  sprang  up  on  every  hand,  on  the  soil  ground 
from  the  rocks  by  the  restless  glaciers  and  deposited 
in  great  lateral  and  terminal  moraines,  or  washed 
down  by  later  floods  to  fill  ice-polished  areas  of  more 
level  surface.  Insect  life,  reptilian  life,  bird  life, 
animal  life  began  to  appear,  and  as  the  sun  shone 
upon  a  world  so  peopled  and  made  beautiful,  man 
was  tempted  to  appear. 

Then  came  California's  prehistoric  halcyon  days, 
the  days  of  aboriginal  peace  and  plenty — full  of 
peace  because  of  its  plenty,  and  all  Nature  seemed  to 
smile  and  rejoice  in  gladness. 

Since  then  there  have  been  many  changes.  The 
Spaniard  came,  the  Mexican,  the  American;  the 
aborigine  has  been  thrust  into  the  background,  and 
for  good  or  evil,  the  power  of  the  white  man  is  in 
the  ascendency.  He  it  is  who  has  built  the  railway 
to  aid  him  in  his  plans;  he  it  is  who  has  created 
Huntington  Lake;  he  it  is  who  converts  its  water- 
power  into  electric-power;  he  it  Is  who  carries  that 
power  over  the  long  miles  to  far-away  Los  Angeles. 
He  is  the  modern  miracle-worker  and  the  mountains 
of  the  San  Joaquin  are  become  the  scene  of  some  of 
the  greatest  of  them. 


[13] 


CHAPTER  ir 

WHERE    LOS   ANGELES'    ELECTRICITY    IS    MADE 

FEW  laymen  have  any  conception  of  the  ter- 
rific power  of  water,  even  in  a  small  stream, 
when  brought  under  man's  control  from  a 
great  height.  Now  and  again  he  realizes  the  tremen- 
dous power  of  the  waves  of  the  ocean  in  a  storm, 
when  they  beat  upon  some  unprotected  city,  as  at 
Galveston,  before  the  sea-wall  was  built;  he  sees  the 
devastating  horror  of  a  Johnstown  flood,  a  cloud- 
burst, or  a  tidal  wave;  but  these  are  all  the  manifes- 
tations of  wild  Nature,  when  unrestrained  and  un- 
controlled. Just  as  man  has  harnessed  the  lightning 
and  made  it  obedient  to  his  will,  so  has  he  now  re- 
duced the  wild  power  of  the  water-courses  to  subjec- 
tion. He  builds  dams  and,  so  long  as  they  stand  the 
pressure,  they  keep  the  fluid  under  control.  Then, 
in  dark  tubes,  or  through  hewn  tunnels,  he  conveys 
the  water  to  where  it  pours  over  tiny  wheels,  which 
are  thus  made  to  revolve  with  wondrous  speed,  excite 
electric  energy  into  life,  and  then  send  its  subtle, 
though  unseen,  force  hundreds  of  miles  away  over 
the  hitherto  trackless  mountains. 

It  is  to  one  of  the  latest  and  greatest  of  these  elec- 
tric power  development  plants — the  Pacific  Light  & 
Power  Co. — which  supplies  electricity  to  far-away 
Los  Angeles,  that  we  owe  the  present  facilities  for 
speedily  reaching  the  heart  of  the  mountains  of  the 
San  Joaquin. 

Los  Angeles  is  one  of  the  marvel-cities  of  the 
world  for  rapid  growth.  In  less  than  forty  years  it 
has  jumped  from  a  population  of  about  12,000  to 
[14] 


In    the    Forest    near    Huntington    Lake    Lodge,    m    the    San    Joaquin    Sierras 


Leaving   Huntington    Lake    Lodge    for    a    Camping-Out    Trip    in    the 
San  Joaquin   Sierras 


over  500,000.  Its  electric  car  system  has  kept  pace 
with  the  city's  phenomenal  bounds,  and  in  addition, 
it  has  established  the  most  complete  and  modern 
interurban  electric  system  In  the  United  States,  if  not 
in  the  world,  sending  its  trains  of  magnificent  red 
cars  radiating  in  every  direction,  even  to  Redlands, 
Riverside  and  San  Bernardino,  sixty  to  seventy  miles 
away.  Besides  this,  its  city  streets  and  residences 
are  electrically  lighted,  and  thousands  of  electric  ap- 
pliances and  conveniences  are  in  operation  for  the 
benefit  and  comfort  of  its  citizens.  Hence  it  will  be 
seen  that  it  was,  necessarily,  no  small  task  to  meet 
the  growing  needs  of  Los  Angeles  for  electric  power. 
When  one  company  after  another  had  exhausted  its 
resources,  Mr.  H.  E.  Huntington,  who  had  prac- 
tically acquired  control  of  all  the  street  railways,  and 
was  the  father  of  the  new  interurban  system,  deter- 
mined to  establish  power  plants  in  the  San  Joaquin 
Sierras.  Stone  &  Webster,  of  Boston,  were  given 
the  contract  and  ordered  to  speed  the  work.  With 
their  well-known  organization  operations  were  begun 
and  so  systematically  urged  that  in  less  than  two 
years  from  the  time  the  order  was  received,  sixty- 
seven  miles  of  mountain  railway  were  built;  two  in- 
clined cable  railways  were  In  operation,  each  rising 
2000  feet  In  6000  feet  of  length;  four  concrete  dams 
were  erected,  thus  creating  Huntington  Lake,  nearly 
five  miles  long  by  half  a  mile  to  a  mile  wide;  two 
power-houses  and  a  sub-station  were  built  and 
equipped;  five  miles  of  12-foot  tunnel  were  bored 
through  the  solid  granite  of  the  mountains;  over 
3000  skeleton  steel  towers  were  set  over  240  miles 
of  mountain  and  desert,  the  50-foot-wIde  way  for 
these  also  cleared  of  timber  and  brush  for  the  whole 
length;  and  upon  the  towers  were  stretched  five  mil- 
lion pounds  of  aluminum  cable.  This  recital  is  a 
story  of  modern  magic.  To  have  built  the  power- 
houses alone,  In  the  heart  of  New  York,  where  all 
the  materials  were  at  hand,  would  have  been  regard- 

[15] 


ed  as  a  great  achievement  fifty  years  ago.  But  to 
go  Into  the  heart  of  a  rugged  range  of  mountains, 
cut  roads,  build  a  railroad,  transport  supplies,  and 
erect  them  there.  In  what  seemed  Inaccessible  sites.  Is 
nothing  short  of  the  miraculous. 

The  San  Joaquin  &  Eastern  Railway,  therefore, 
may  truly  be  called  an  emergency  railway.  It  was 
built  and  equipped  (the  main  line  of  S6  miles)  In 
157  days — five  months.  And  only  those  who  have 
ridden  over  it  can  grasp  the  remarkable  fact,  for  It 
required  the  blasting  of  millions  of  tons  of  solid 
granite,  and  it  rises  at  a  far  higher  gradient  than  any 
other  steam-propelled  railway  in  the  state,  except 
small  portions  of  the  Mt.  Tamalpais  scenic  railway. 
After  the  main  S6  miles  were  built  it  was  found  nec- 
essary to  add  1 1  miles  for  pure  construction  pur- 
poses. The  equipment  called  for  nine  locomotives 
and  112  cars. 

The  watershed  that  supplies  Huntington  Lake  has 
its  greatest  elevation  In  Kaiser  Ridge,  from  9000  to 
nearly  11,000  feet  above  the  sea.  Its  chief  stream 
has  long  borne  the  mountaineer's  name  of  Big  Creek, 
which  Is  one  of  the  large  affluents  of  the  main  stem 
of  the  San  Joaquin  River.  At  an  elevation  of  7000 
feet  it  flowed  into  a  basin  (now  Huntington  Lake), 
and  then  spilled  over.  In  a  series  of  cascades  and 
waterfalls.  Into  a  precipitous  canyon,  dropping  four 
thousand  feet  in  six  miles  before  It  joined  the  San 
Joaquin. 

To  make  this  basin  a  permanent  reservoir  required 
the  erection  of  three  of  the  concrete  dams  referred 
to.  Each  one  is  built  on  solid  granite  foundations 
and  they  are  so  constructed  that  fifty  feet  may  be 
added  to  their  height  when  It  Is  needed  to  store  more 
water  for  the  development  of  more  power. 

At  the  lake  the  water  is  diverted  from  its  natural 

channel,  through  screens,  into  an  intake  tower,  from 

which  it  enters  a  12-foot  tunnel  three-quarters  of  a 

mile  long.    Connecting  with  the  tunnel  are  two  steel- 

[16] 


pipe  conduits,  which  come  down  the  mountain  side, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Kerckhoff  Dome,  like  giant 
black  caterpillars.  These  two  are  then  divided  into 
four,  each  pipe  24  inches  in  diameter,  and  having  a 
thickness  of  1  3/16  inches,  made  of  the  finest  steel 
known.  Each  of  these  pipes  is  able  to  resist  a  pres- 
sure of  900  pounds  to  the  square  inch,  and  is  tested 
to  double  that  capacity.  These  are  known  as  the 
penstocks,  and  as  the  water  is  ready  to  be  delivered 
to  the  water-wheel,  each  tube  compresses  until  it  is 
but  26  inches  in  diameter,  with  a  nozzle  of  634 
inches  in  diameter,  through  which  the  water  dashes 
at  the  velocity  of  350  feet  per  second. 

Few  can  realize  the  force  with  which  the  water, 
with  this  2000  feet  of  head,  compressed  through 
these  small  nozzles,  rushes  forth.  During  the  con- 
struction period,  before  the  wheels  were  in  position, 
each  time  the  stream  was  turned  on  it  cut  down  the 
opposite  mountain  side  as  though  it  were  powdered 
sugar.  The  water-wheels  are  of  the  Pelton-Doble 
(San  Francisco)  type,  though  they  were  made  by 
the  Allis-Chalmers  Co.  Each  wheel  consists  of  nine- 
teen double-scoop  buckets,  attached  to  a  nickel-steel 
disk,  97  inches  in  diameter.  Each  bucket  is  made  of 
the  finest  cast  steel  and  weighs  225  pounds;  the 
bucket-weight  of  the  nineteen,  therefore,  being  4275 
pounds.  But  this  is  as  nothing  compared  to  the  re- 
sistant power  of  the  revolving  shaft  upon  which  these 
buckets  are  affixed.  The  pressure  approximates 
three  hundred  tons,  such  is  the  fearful  power  gener- 
ated by  the  upright  column  of  water  flowing  from 
Huntington  Lake. 

When  the  water  is  turned  on,  the  jets  dash  across 
an  open  space  of  a  few  inches  and  then  strike  the 
buckets.  There  is  no  shock,  however,  at  this  impact, 
as  the  part  of  the  bucket  first  touched  is  nearly  par- 
allel to  the  jet.  The  wheel  is  forced  around,  the 
next  bucket  appears,  and  the  next,  and  so  on,  in  end- 
less round.     In  its  short  course  over  the  surface  of 

[17] 


the  buckets  the  water  is  brought  almost  to  rest,  and, 
without  pressure  and  velocity,  falls  inert  from  the 
wheel  into  the  tail-race.  It  is  in  the  bringing  of  the 
water  to  rest  and  allowing  it  to  drop  from  the  buckets 
that  the  genius  of  the  Inventors  has  been  displayed. 
Were  the  water  to  revolve  with  the  buckets  they 
would  soon  become  choked,  as  it  were,  and  thus  ma- 
terially retard  the  speed.  As  It  Is,  the  experts  tell  us 
that  fully  85  per  cent  of  the  potential  energy  Is  ac- 
tually developed  and  delivered  to  the  electric  excltors, 
or  dynamos,  with  which  the  bucket-shaft  is  linked. 

When  run  at  full  speed  the  shaft  revolves  375 
times  per  minute,  over  sixty  times  a  second,  and  if  a 
brake  were  not  applied  it  would  continue  to  revolve 
for  two  hours  after  the  power  was  shut  off,  such  is 
the  perfection  of  the  mechanism. 

The  two  excltors  are  the  nerve  centers  of  the  whole 
plant.  Each  is  18  feet  In  diameter  and  8  feet  wide, 
and  the  pair  develop  practically  24,000  horse-power. 
As  a  tyro  stands  and  watches  the  great  dynamos  re- 
volve, and  realizes  that  here  water  energy  Is  being 
transformed  into  the  subtler  electrical  energy  to  the 
extent  of  17,500  kilowatts  each.  It  almost  staggers 
his  imagination  to  be  told  by  the  expert  that  the 
mechanism  Is  so  delicate,  so  finely  balanced,  that  the 
governor  reveals  to  the  trained  eye  the  stopping  and 
starting  of  every  electric  car  on  the  streets  of  Los 
Angeles,  240  miles  away!  It  Is  evident,  then,  that 
the  control  of  the  pressure  of  the  water  must  be  ade- 
quately provided  for.  Each  wheel  unit  has  two  gov- 
ernors, so  that  the  maximum  efficiency  can  be  ob- 
tained from  the  unit  by  using  one  or  both  runners, 
according  to  the  demand  of  the  load.  The  size  of 
the  water  jet  is  regulated  by  a  needle  valve  controlled 
by  the  governor,  and  excessive  changes  in  the  pipe- 
line pressures  are  prevented  by  by-pass  openings  back 
of  the  nozzles,  also  controlled  by  the  governor. 

The  power  is  generated  at  6600  volts,  which  is 
then  passed  into  three  transformers  and  raised  to 
[18] 


150,000  volts.  Each  of  these  transformers  stands 
eighteen  feet  high  and  is  filled  with  10,000  gallons  of 
oil  of  a  cooling  and  insulating  quality,  so  as  to  de- 
stroy the  tremendous  heat  generated  in  the  trans- 
forming process.  Each  tank  weighs  90  tons,  and 
the  oil  is  tested  once  a  month  to  discover  whether  its 
resistant  properties  are  impaired,  and  also  to  find  out 
whether  any  moisture  has  crept  in.  If  it  is  found 
below  standard,  or  moist,  it  is  taken  out  and  thor- 
oughly filtered. 

The  power  is  now  under  the  control  of  the  switch- 
man, and  he  sends  a  continuous  flow  of  150,000  volts 
over  the  aluminum  transmission  lines  direct  to  Los 
Angeles,  where,  at  the  Eagle  Rock  sub-station  step- 
down  transformers,  condensers,  compensators  and 
other  controlling  apparatus  are  installed.  Received 
at  150,000  volts,  it  is  delivered  over  the  city  lines  at 
72,000  and  18,000  volts.  This  is  the  longest  line  in 
existence  and  operates  at  the  highest  voltage  ever 
used  commercially,  hence  to  the  practical  electrician 
is  one  of  the  most  interesting  plants  in  the  world.  The 
twin  steel  towers  are  erected  on  a  right-of-way  150 
feet  wide,  cut  as  straight  as  the  crow  flies  from  the 
power-houses  over  mountains,  valleys,  desert  and 
plain,  and  they  carry  six  cables  an  inch  in  diameter. 
Without  halt  the  subtle  fluid  leaps  from  the  San  Joa- 
quin mountains  to  Los  Angeles,  and  so  perfect  was 
the  planning  that  during  the  severe  storms  of  1914 
and  1916  the  system  stood  the  test  without  a  break, 
giving  continuous  service,  day  and  night,  ever  since 
its  installation. 

Yet  the  story  only  begins  here.  When  the  water 
from  Huntington  Lake  races  down  the  penstock,  op- 
erates the  water-wheel,  generates  the  electric  power, 
drops  inert  into  the  tail-race,  it  has  done  only  the 
first  portion  of  its  expected  service.  It  now  flows 
into  the  Cascada  reservoir,  created  by  the  erection 
of  Dam  No.  4,  72  feet  high  and  with  a  capacity  suf- 
ficient to  operate  Power  Plant  No.  2,  four  miles  fur- 

[19] 


ther  down,  for  four  hours.  The  respective  elevations 
are  4820  feet  at  Cascada  and  2953  feet  at  plant  No. 
2.  About  10  per  cent  added  water  flows  into  the 
reservoir  from  Pitman  and  Snowslide  creeks  and 
other  smaller  streams,  and  then,  flowing  through  a 
tunnel  12  feet  in  diameter,  cut  out  of  the  solid  gran- 
ite of  the  mountain,  21,000  feet  long,  it  flows  to 
generate  about  the  same  amount  of  power  at  plant 
No.  2  as  is  produced  at  Cascada.  Thus  this  one 
stream  of  water,  twice  used,  generates  about  170,000 
horse-power. 

Such,  however,  is  the  growing  demand  for  electric 
power,  that  the  completed  plans  of  this  system  con- 
template the  erection  of  two  more  generating  sta- 
tions. No.  3  will  be  located  near  where  Stevenson 
Creek  drops  into  the  San  Joaquin,  and  about  four 
miles  beyond  No.  2,  reached  through  a  granite  tun- 
nel. Its  water  supply  will  be  augmented  by  the  full 
flow  of  the  San  Joaquin  river,  brought  through  a 
tunnel  twelve  miles  long,  and  the  drop  will  be  1400 
feet.  Then  a  fourth  plant  will  be  erected  further 
down,  with,  possibly,  an  equal  capacity,  so  that  when 
the  entire  system  is  installed  it  is  not  unreasonable  to 
suppose  that  fully  350,000  horse-power  will  be  de- 
veloped ready  for  transmission  to  Los  Angeles  or 
elsewhere,  as  may  be  required. 

The  expenditures  already  made  to  date  exceed  the 
sum  of  twenty-five  million  dollars,  and  the  rude  esti- 
mates of  the  completed  system,  as  outlined  above, 
call  for  near  eighty  millions.  Thus  do  men  today 
play  the  game  of  life  with  millions,  where  a  score  of 
years  ago  they  deemed  they  were  doing  large  things 
with  hundreds  of  thousands. 

The  system  was  designed  as  the  result  of  combin- 
ing the  ideas  of  several  engineers,  notably  the  heads 
of  the  Pacific  Light  &  Power  Co.,  Messrs.  H.  A. 
Barre  and  Davis.  The  superintendent  of  the  Big 
Creek  power-houses  is  R.  B.  Lawton,  to  whose  kind- 
ness I  am  indebted  for  the  facts  of  this  chapter. 
[20] 


CHAPTER  III 

FROM   FRESNO  TO   HUNTINGTON   LAKE   LODGE 

FOR  the  first  eighteen  miles  the  ride  is  on  the 
Friant  Branch  of  the  Southern  Pacific.  In 
February,  1916,  when  the  Snow  Carnival 
was  held,  there  had  been  a  brief  early  hot  spell  in  the 
San  Joaquin  Valley,  a  kind  of  Indian  summer,  where 
the  temperature  rose  as  high  as  80  degrees.  Then 
came  days  of  fog,  which  flowed  in  during  the  night 
and  did  not  lift  until  early  afternoon,  thus  covering 
the  whole  valley  with  its  cooling,  though  somewhat 
dreary,  blanket.  This  fog  followed  us  all  the  way 
from  Fresno  to  El  Prado,  where  change  was  made  to 
the  cars  of  the  San  Joaquin  &  Eastern  Railway.  This 
latter  is  the  railway  of  56  miles,  constructed  and 
equipped  in  157  days,  to  further  the  establishment 
of  the  hydro-electric  power-plants  described  in  the 
preceding  chapter. 

From  this  point  we  began  the  ascent  of  the  foot- 
hills, dotted  with  live  oaks,  sycamores  and  cotton- 
woods,  many  of  the  former  heavy  with  bunches  of 
parasitic  mistletoe.  Soon  the  table-land  region  was 
reached,  reminding  one  forcefully  of  the  volcanic 
country  so  graphically  described  by  Bret  Harte  in 
his  Twins  of  Table  Mountain.  This  is  a  vast  stony 
level,  upheaved  far  above  the  surrounding  country — 
the  valleys  traversed  by  our  train — and  capped  by  a 
thick  flow  of  solidified  lava,  which  has  prevented  the 
wear  and  tear  of  the  storms  of  the  ages  from  cutting 
it  down  to  the  lower  levels.  The  country  having 
been  fairly  level  when  the  lava  outpour  occurred,  it 
now  stands,  parapetted  and  formidable,  like  a  gi- 
gantic  and   time-worn   level-topped   castle   built   in 

[21] 


heroic  days  to  house  all  the  giant  creatures  of  the 
world.  Although  in  actual  altitude  these  tables  of 
rock  are  far  beneath  the  white  peaks  of  snow  of  the 
higher  Sierras,  their  peculiar  configuration  seems  to 
lift  them  up  to  the  passionless  region  of  the  stars  and 
make  them  much  higher  than  they  really  are. 

The  intervening  valleys  are  fairly  fertile  and  the 
foothills  attractive  with  the  wealth  of  blossoms 
springing  up  in  the  moist  mould  under  the  influence 
of  the  sunshine,  for  the  fog  is  now  behind  and  below 
us,  and  the  pure  blue  of  the  Sierran  sky  is  shot 
through  with  the  brilliant  rays  of  the  sun.  For 
twenty-six  miles  we  meander  along  until  Auberry  is 
reached,  at  an  elevation  of  2050  feet. 

Here  we  change  engines,  for  from  now  on  we 
must  climb  up  steeper  grades,  making  more  curves 
and  twists  than  are  found  in  any  other  railway  in 
the  world.  In  some  places,  too,  the  grade  is  as  high 
as  5^  per  cent.  The  ordinary  engine  is  not  suitable 
for  this  kind  of  railroading,  so  the  Shay  engines, 
similar  to  those  used  to  overcome  the  grades  of  Mt. 
Tamalpais,  are  used.  These  are  different  from  the 
ordinary  rod-and-piston-driven  engines,  in  that  the 
power  is  applied  by  cogs  to  each  of  the  six  wheels  of 
the  engine,  hence,  though  they  travel  much  slower, 
they  can  overcome  grades,  hauling  heavy  loads  im- 
possible to  the  ordinary  type  of  engine. 

From  now  on  there  were  no  straight  stretches.  We 
were  on  the  curve  practically  every  moment,  winding 
in  and  out  of  the  rudely  scalloped  segments  of  the 
mountain's  shoulders.  In  and  around,  but  ever  up 
and  up,  we  climbed,  until  a  full  view  of  the  valley  of 
the  San  Joaquin  was  presented.  Its  expansiveness 
and  gentle  upslope  are  its  chief  characteristics.  It 
has  none  of  the  wild  and  picturesque,  turbulent  and 
chaotic  ruggedness  of  the  eastern  slopes  of  the  Sier- 
ras. Here  the  glaciers  have  ploughed  their  way 
down  and  over  an  easy  slope,  leaving  their  mud  and 
debris  deposits  all  the  way  down,  to  form  fertile  soil 
[22] 


Wintertime   at   the   Pacific    Light   and    Power    Corporation    Plant    Xo.    I, 


In  the   Sierra  Planes  on  the  Way  from   Cascada  to  Huntington   Lake  Lodge 


upon  which  giant  pines,  firs,  tamaracks  and  spruces 
now  abound. 

At  Indian  Mission  we  were  greeted  by  Mono 
Indian  men,  women  and  children,  about  300  of  them 
residing  here  upon  a  small  reserve,  with  a  govern- 
ment school  and  a  mission  chapel.  Most  of  the  el- 
derly women  are  excellent  basket-weavers,  some  of 
their  work  being  of  the  finest  character  in  shape, 
weave,  color  and  striking  design. 

On  and  up  we  curved,  in  greater  or  lesser  scallops, 
until  we  reached  the  beautifully  level  Jose  Basin,  at 
Webstone.  This  is  one  of  the  small,  fertile  valleys 
of  the  Sierras,  where  grain,  alfalfa  and  fruit  grow  in 
abundance,  and  of  rare  quality.  In  the  springtime 
the  whole  area  blossoms  out  into  a  million  exquisite 
Sierran  wild  flowers.  It  is  the  beginning  of  a  botan- 
ist's paradise,  leading  on  into  higher  and  richer  fields 
beyond. 

Out  again  on  the  open  mountain  sides  the  train 
carried  us  until  we  were  almost  directly  over  the 
Grand  Canyon  of  the  San  Joaquin.  Here  the  river 
is  narrowed  into  a  wild  and  rugged  gorge  of  majestic 
grandeur.  Though  it  is  3200  feet  below  us,  we  can 
hear,  when  our  engine  comes  to  rest  for  a  few  min- 
utes at  some  watering  tank,  the  sullen  roar  of  its 
flow,  as  it  rages  at  being  so  confined  between  these 
gigantic  cliffs.  For  miles  we  have  followed  its  more 
open  course,  a  mere  ribbon  of  delicate  jade,  laid  out 
in  the  trough  of  an  irregular  shaped  basin,  the  slopes 
all  leading  the  eye  down  to  this  meandering  band  of 
color.  Here  and  there  white  fringes  line  its  edges, 
or  daggers  of  white  shoot  parallel  with  its  course. 
These  are  rapids,  or  cascades,  over  which  the  water 
madly,  ragingly,  or  sullenly  roars. 

For  some  time  the  glorious  snow-capped  peaks  of 
the  Sierras  had  been  in  view,  and  their  grandeur  and 
glory  grew  as  we  came  nearer  to  them.  The  crests 
of  the  ridges  on  our  right  were  covered  with  pines, 
swelling  onward  and  upward  in  long  mounting  bil- 

[23] 


lows,  until  they  broke  upon  the  pure  blue  of  the  sky. 
Still  higher,  slopes  and  crests  alike  were  covered  with 
pines  and  firs  of  great  girth  and  height.  We  had 
reached  one  of  the  timber  treasures  of  the  Sierra 
National  Forest,  where  nearly  two  billion  feet  of 
lumber  were  recently  sold.  What  wreckage  and  de- 
struction will  take  place  here  when  the  lumber  camps 
are  established  and  modern  machinery  and  methods 
are  set  in  motion  to  fell  these  arboreal  monarchs  of 
the  Sierras,  ignominiously  drag  them  to  the  sawmills 
and  there  rip  them  into  merchantable  lumber ! 

At  Dawn,  4562  feet  of  elevation,  we  enjoyed  an 
even  more  extended  panorama  than  any  that  before 
had  been  afforded  us.  The  eye  here  sweeps  over  an 
expanse  of  upwards  of  three  hundred  miles.  Towards 
the  east  the  snowy  Sierras  stand  in  towering  glory 
over  the  vast  forest  stretches  and  the  half-clothed 
wilderness  of  the  San  Joaquin  watershed,  while  in 
the  far-away  western  horizon  are  to  be  seen  the  deep 
purple  of  the  Coast  range,  beyond  which  lies  the  Sun 
Down  Sea  of  Balboa. 

On  the  extreme  right  of  the  panorama,  looking 
eastward,  lies  the  Canyon  of  Big  Creek,  down  which 
w^aterfalls,  cascades  and  rapids  come  dashing  from 
the  basins  above.  Their  foaming  whiteness  even  now 
attracts  the  eye.  Here  the  end  of  the  railway  is 
reached  at  Cascada,  where  the  first  of  the  giant  power 
stations  is  erected,  and  the  monster  dynamos  create 
their  wondrous  flow  of  electricity.  Locating  the  spot, 
and  the  dominant  feature  of  the  amphitheater,  is  the 
granite  mass  of  Kerckhoff  Dome,  towering  1800  feet 
above  the  settlement,  and  leading  the  gaze  to  the 
level  stretch  above,  in  which,  under  the  snowy  crags 
of  Kaiser  Crest,  Huntington  Lake  securely  nestles  in 
blue  serenity. 

Three    miles    beyond    Dawn,    West    Portal    was 

reached.    Here  is  the  present  western  terminus  of  the 

power  system;  the  end  of  the  four-mile  water  tunnel. 

Below  us  was  Power  House  No.  2,  and  as  we  jour- 

[24] 


neyed  we  caught  glimpses  of  the  great  cable  incline, 
and  the  steel  tubes  of  the  giant  penstock  which  con- 
veys the  water  to  the  power-wheels. 

Another  five  miles  brought  us  to  Cascada,  whose 
glorious  waterfalls  and  cascades  suggested  the  name 
it  now  bears.  At  Stevenson  Creek,  two  miles  west  of 
Dawn,  where  we  stopped  for  dinner,  our  ears  and 
eyes  were  charmed  by  the  waterfalls,  cascades,  pools 
and  rapids  of  that  dashing  torrent,  but  now  all  the 
rapture  of  Pitman  Creek  is  ours.  What  music  Na- 
ture produces,  and  how  soul-stirring  it  is  when  one 
grows  to  understand  it!  Like  the  masterly  composi- 
tions of  Beethoven,  Mendelssohn  or  Wagner,  one 
must  learn  to  comprehend  them;  and  then,  ah,  then, 
they  sing  of  far-away  western  seas,  of  wooing  sun- 
shine, of  ravishing,  intoxicating  rushes  into  the  upper 
air  in  the  form  of  sea-mist,  of  wild  storms  blowing 
the  mist-clouds  from  western  seas  over  fertile  Cali- 
fornia landscapes  to  the  forbidding  barriers  of  Sier- 
ra's highest  crests.  Then  they  sing  of  fierce  storms, 
of  dire  cold,  of  icy  blasts  of  winter,  of  the  deluge  of 
snow  brought  upon  these  towering  peaks;  of  its  melt- 
ing and  massing  until  glacial  beds  were  formed. 
Then,  again,  the  song  changes  to  one  of  joy  at  sun- 
shine and  freedom.  The  sun's  rays  release  the  im- 
prisoned seadrops;  they  are  free  again;  they  flow  in 
underground  channels  until  they  emerge  into  the 
open,  and  then  they  sing  separately  and  melodiously, 
and  jointly  and  harmoniously  of  their  new-found 
freedom.  Merrily  they  dash  along,  murmuring  and 
babbling  between  the  trees  in  their  quieter  flow,  trum- 
peting, blaring,  cymballing  and  drumming  when  they 
dash  from  ledge  to  ledge,  or  tootling,  tinkling  and 
piping  as  they  rush  to  and  fro  among  the  boulders. 

While  one's  intellect  is  enthralled  at  the  material 
and  scientific  marvels  of  the  great  power-house,  let 
him  not  forget  the  natural  and  simple  delights  af- 
forded eye  and  ear  at  Pitman  Creek. 

[25] 


Behind  the  power-house  the  cable  incline  ascends 
to  the  level  of  Kerckhoff  Dome,  where  the  upper  rail- 
road hauls  supplies  to  the  Lodge.  The  penstocks  are 
also  located  here.  But  passengers  are  not  carried  on 
the  incline;  so,  leaving  the  train,  we  take  the  stage  or 
automobile  in  summer-time,  or  Sierra-planes  in  win- 
ter, and  within  an  hour  or  so  find  ourselves  in  the 
hospitable  shelter  of  Huntington  Lake  Lodge,  where 
our  real  mountain  pleasures  are  to  begin. 


[26] 


CHAPTER  IV 

HUNTINGTON   LAKE  LODGE  IN  SUMMER 

FROM  the  terminus  of  the  San  Joaquin  &  East- 
ern Railway  at  Cascada  it  is  four  miles,  or 
thereabout,  to  the  Lodge.  The  road  is  well 
engineered  for  stages  and  automobiles,  but  the  strong 
and  athletic  mountain-lover  will  ride  horseback  or 
walk.  In  the  former  case  he  will  soon  sing,  with 
Edwin  Markham : 

I  ride  on  the  mountain  tops,  I  ride; 
I  have  found  my  life  and  am  satisfied. 


I  am  lifted  elate  —  the  skies  expand : 

I  ride  with  the  voices  of  waterfalls! 

The  road  leads  through  an  almost  virgin  forest, 
where  flowers  of  a  thousand  varieties  charm  the  eye, 
and  mosses,  ferns  and  liverworts  lead  the  rider  to 
dismount  and  gaze  upon  scenes  of  fairy-like  beauty. 
Springs,  cascades  and  waterfalls  give  rare  life  and 
touches  of  nature-glory  to  the  scene,  as  well  as  insur- 
ing needful  moisture  to  the  flowers  during  the  long 
summer  months.  Pines,  spruces,  cedars,  with  occa- 
sional quaking  aspens,  cottonwoods,  sycamores,  ma- 
dronas,  and  manzanita  make  a  rich  forest.  Now  and 
again  richest  vistas  are  afforded  of  long  aisles  of 
glorious  trees,  terminating  in  the  vault  of  the  blue 
horizon,  or  in  the  purple  depths  of  the  profound 
valleys  to  the  west. 

Suddenly,  through  the  trees,  Huntington  Lake  ap- 
pears. Though  a  made  lake,  it  occupies  the  site  of 
an  original  Sierran  lake,  destroyed,  mayhap,  by  earth- 

[27] 


quake  shock  ages  ago,  or  its  outlets  carved  away  by 
long-forgotten  glacial  action.  The  three  dams  re- 
cently erected  have  restored  the  barriers  and  now  the 
lake,  four  to  five  miles  long  and  from  a  half  to  a 
mile  wide,  is  another  permanent  asset  of  beauty  to 
this  region  crowded  with  proofs  that  the  Divine  Cre- 
ator is  a  lover  of  beauty.  Rising  from  its  very  mar- 
gin, towering  trees  point  heavenward,  rising  in 
billowy  waves  to  the  shoulders  of  the  highest  peaks, 
where  the  timber-line  ends  and  barren  rock  or  snowy 
crowns  begin.  In  the  first  chapter  I  have  given  a 
cursory  survey  of  the  extended  mountain  views  ob- 
tainable from  any  one  of  a  score  salient  points  around 
the  lake. 

To  provide  for  the  creature  comforts  of  the  exact- 
ing modern  mountain  traveler,  Huntington  Lake 
Lodge  has  been  erected,  about  500  feet  away  from 
the  shore  of  the  lake.  It  is  a  mountain  structure, 
Swiss  in  style,  redolent  of  pine  and  fir,  spruce  and 
tamarack,  with  an  inviting  hall  in  which  a  triumph 
of  stone-chimney  construction  has  been  achieved. 
There  is  not  a  more  delightful,  cozy  and  comforta- 
ble lounging  room  in  America  than  is  this  hall, 
winter  or  summer,  when  a  genial  crowd  is  gathered 
together  within  its  hospitable  walls. 

Even  on  summer  nights  an  open  fire  is  often  grate- 
ful and  comforting,  and  in  the  winter  its  joyous 
warmth  is  indispensable;  but  in  every  room  an  elec- 
tric heater  is  provided,  which,  on  the  mere  twisting 
of  a  button,  throws  out  its  gratifying  heat.  With 
the  purest  air  of  earth  to  breathe,  the  purest  water 
of  God's  own  mountain  distillation  to  drink,  with 
ten  thousand  balsamic  odors  and  scents  lading  the 
air  and  bringing  delicious  comfort  to  city-choked 
lungs,  what  wonder  that  new  and  beautiful  color 
floods  the  cheeks,  new  springiness  enters  the  walk, 
clearness  the  brain,  freedom  the  lungs,  oxygen  the 
blood,  and  the  whole  being  becomes  radiant  with 
new  life,  vim,  vigor  and  energy? 
[28] 


To  the  hunter  the  whole  region  is  one  of  allure- 
ment. Small  and  large  game  of  all  varieties  abound. 
From  the  Lodge  a  score,  two  score,  of  trips  may  be 
made,  some  nearby  and  easy,  others  farther  away 
and  arduous,  to  the  wilds  of  the  higher  and  more 
remote  parts  of  the  mountains.  Here,  during  the 
season,  it  is  seldom  that  bear  and  deer  may  not  be 
found.  Foxes,  lynxes  and  wildcats  also  abound, 
though,  of  course,  the  season  for  these  is  the  winter, 
when  their  fur  is  at  its  best. 

But  it  is  particularly  to  the  fisherman,  the  angler 
for  mountain  trout  and  other  gamey  fish,  that  the 
region  makes  its  great  appeal.  Experts  assert  that 
it  is  the  most  highly  favored  fishing  locality  in  the 
American  world.  This  is  but  natural,  on  account 
of  the  continuous  flow  of  ice-cold  water  from  the 
thousands  of  springs,  snowbanks  and  glaciers  of  the 
multitudinous  peaks,  whose  snowy  crowns  and  icy 
shoulder-capes  are  never  melted.  Brooks,  streams, 
rivers  and  lakes  abound  in  rainbow,  black-spotted. 
Loch  Levin,  Eastern,  and  golden  trout,  together 
with  black  bass.  Scores  of  glacial  lakes  are  within 
easy  reach  of  the  Lodge,  and  the  camper-out  may 
take  his  outfit,  travel  to  a  fresh  angling  spot  daily, 
and  thus  enjoy  a  full  month  of  healthful  delight,  as 
well  as  revelry  in  his  chosen  sport.  For,  since  the 
enlarged  policy  of  the  Department  of  the  Interior, 
in  relation  to  our  national  parks  and  forests,  came 
into  effect,  miles  and  miles  of  trail  have  been  built 
in  the  Sierra  National  Forest,  giving  to  any  ordi- 
narily healthful  person  easy  access  to  every  lake, 
stream,  creek  and  river  in  the  region. 

And  to  those  who  are  "run  down,"  overworked, 
weary  of  the  endless  round  of  modern  business  life, 
of  society  with  its  wearisome  monotony  and  soul- 
harrowing  frivolities,  what  could  be  more  beneficial 
than  to  recuperate  amid  these  glorious,  majestic  and 
inspiring  scenes?  Here  one  soon  gains  serenity, 
poise,  strength  and  power. 

[29] 


CHAPTER  V 

HUNTINGTON    LAKE    LODGE    IN    WINTER 

WINTER  at  the  Lodge  begins  "several  miles 
before  you  get  there."  On  the  occasion  of 
the  Commercial  Club's  excrusion  snow  was 
reached  at  Dawn.  For  a  while  the  train  was  stopped 
in  order  that  the  party  might  disembark  and  indulge 
in  a  snow  frolic.  Many  had  never  been  in  the  snow 
before,  hence  it  was  a  new  and  unique  experience. 

At  Cascada  stages  were  taken  for  a  mile  or  so, 
and  then  change  was  made  to  the  snow-boats,  or 
Sierra  planes,  recently  invented  for  the  transporta- 
tion of  this  party.  It  was  found  that  the  snow  was 
too  soft  and  deep  to  allow  the  running  of  an  ordi- 
nary sleigh.  The  runners  sank  in,  and  even  eight 
horses  could  not  pull  the  sleigh  along.  It  was  left, 
therefore,  to  the  inventive  genius  of  Leonard  L. 
Ellis — popularly  known  as  "Len" — to  devise  some 
means  of  getting  this  party  to  the  Lodge.  After  sev- 
eral experiments  he  found  that  a  strongly  constructed 
sled,  shaped  similarly  to  a  rowboat,  the  bottom  (on 
the  outside)  covered  with  heavy  zinc,  and  dragged 
by  four,  five  or  six  horses,  driven  tandem,  would  an- 
swer the  purpose.  They  were  found  to  work  admir- 
ably, though  the  horses  and  mules,  if  they  left  the 
beaten  path,  sank  and  floundered  in  the  deep  snow. 

Through  the  deep  drifts,  which  were  sometimes 
as  deep  as  ten,  fifteen,  or  even  twenty  feet,  a  tow- 
path  was  maintained  open  to  the  summit,  and  over 
this  the  party  was  taken  in  the  Sierra  planes,  each 
plane  accommodating  eight  persons. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  party  came  up 
on  three  successive  days,  some  on  Friday,  others  Sat- 
[30] 


urday,  while  the  last  arrivals  were  on  Sunday.  Each 
day,  on  reaching  the  summit  in  the  Sierra  planes,  a 
terrific  snow  battle  was  imperative  ere  progress  was 
allowed.  A  snow  fortress  was  built,  manned  the 
first  day  by  Mr.  Munger  and  the  winter  residents  of 
the  Lodge  and  its  environs.  The  invaders  fought 
manfully,  showing  great  aptitude  in  making  and 
throwing  snowballs,  considering  the  fact  that  so  few 
of  them  had  ever  done  the  like  before. 

The  second  day  Hayden  Jones,  the  new  com- 
mandant of  Huntington  Fort,  determined  to  ambush 
the  newly  arriving  party,  led  by  Messrs.  George 
Waterman  and  G.  Gaylord  Watson.  As  their  planes 
came  merrily  along  they  were  suddenly  attacked. 
Showers  of  snowballs  fell  upon  them  as  rapidly,  if 
not  as  fiercely,  as  German  shells  were  rained  upon 
Verdun.  Entirely  surprised,  they  became  ready  vic- 
tims to  the  fort  defenders,  who,  rushing  upon  them, 
overturned  the  planes  and  took  everyone  prisoner. 
But  though  captured,  the  new  contingent  had  re- 
sourceful leaders.  Rallying  their  mental  powers 
from  the  suddenness  of  the  shock,  they  signaled  to 
their  followers,  who,  falling  upon  their  captors,  ef- 
fected their  escape,  keeping  up  the  while  the  most 
galling  and  destructive  fire.  Noses  were  hit,  eyes 
bunged  up,  ears  filled,  necks  loaded  with  the  fleecy 
snow,  and  though  the  Hayden  Jones  forces  fought 
with  the  desperation  of  despair,  they  were  overcome 
by  mere  strength,  as  well  as  strategy,  their  fortress 
largely  demolished,  and  their  valiant  soldiers  placed 
hors  du  combat,  hors  d'ceuvre,  hoi-polloi,  or  Erin  go 
bragh — mainly  Erin  go  bragh,  which,  being  inter- 
preted, means,  put  in  the  soup. 

Words  utterly  fail  to  describe  the  dire  conflict  of 
the  following  day.  The  two  parties  of  the  preceding 
days  had  patched  up  a  truce  and  united  forces 
against  the  hapless  third-day  group,  who  were  sub- 
jected to  such  a  rain,  hail  and  storm  of  fire  when 
they  arrived  as  to  make  them  feel  as  did  the  congre- 

[31] 


gation  of  the  negro  preacher,  when  he  emphatically 
announced:  "Bredderen,  dere  am  but  two  roads — 
one  to  hell,  and  de  odder  to  perdition."  They  Im- 
mediately did  as  one  of  the  preacher's  auditors  did, 
z-iz.,  took  to  de  woods  until  the  defenders  were  lulled 
into  a  sense  of  false  security.  Then,  swooping  down 
upon  them,  with  valor  In  every  heart  and  prowess 
in  every  arm,  they  made  a  clean  sweep  of  outposts, 
fortress  and  defenders. 

These  were  the  real  beginnings  of  the  frolics. 
Everyone  had  to  take  his,  her,  baptism  of  snow.  For 
snow  was  everywhere.  The  Lake  was  burled  deep  in 
ten,  twenty  feet  of  snow.  Everywhere  was  snow. 
As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  to  the  summit  of  Kai- 
ser's Peak,  and  beyond,  for  fifty  and  more  miles, 
looking  northward  and  east,  filling  ravines  and 
gulches,  and  dropping  from  the  walls  of  canyons  In 
white  shroud-like  drifts,  fashioning  the  dividing 
ridges  into  the  likenesses  of  monstrous  graves,  hid- 
ing the  bases  of  giant  pines,  and  completely  covering 
young  trees  and  larches;  rimming  with  porcelain  the 
bowl-like  edges  of  the  lake,  and  undulating  in  motion- 
less white  billows  to  the  edge  of  the  distant  hori- 
zon— so  would  Bret  Harte  have  described  the  scene, 
quoting  from  his  Gabriel  Convoy.  Snow  actually  cov- 
ered some  of  the  lesser  houses  of  the  settlement,  and 
rose  to  the  very  eaves,  and  higher,  of  the  great  ware- 
houses and  stables.  The  Lodge  was  buried  up  to 
and  above  the  second-story  windows,  and  tunnels 
were  dug  to  allow  Ingress  and  egress.  The  cottages 
were  buried  like  dog  kennels,  and  could  be  entered 
only  through  canyons  tunneled  In  the  snow. 

This  was  the  scene  and  these  the  conditions  that 
met  the  Fresno  Commercial  Club  at  Huntington 
Lake  on  the  occasion  of  the  First  Winter  Carnival 
and  Sports. 


[32] 


Skiing    Down    the    Hillside    of    the     Island,    Huntington     Lake- 
Winter    Carnival 


Snow    Shoeing   and    Skiing    Party    going   out    to    Inspiration    Point    from 
Huntington    Lake    Lodge 


Spectators  at  a  Game  of   Tennis  on   Snow   Shoes  in  Ten  Feet  of  Snow 


.V  Xovel  (jamf  of  Tennis.  Snow  Shoes  for  Rackets 
Pine    Cones    for    Balls 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  WINTER  CARNIVAL  AT   HUNTINGTON   LAKE 

PILOTED  through  the  snow  tunnels  or  run- 
ways, the  varnivahsts  reached  the  foyer  of  the 
Lodge.  Here  blazing  fires  welcomed  them, 
and  their  eyes  were  delighted  with  the  fir  and  spruce 
adornments  of  the  walls,  beams  and  open  ceiling  of 
the  hall.  The  odors  of  the  mountains  were  cham- 
bered In  the  rooms,  and  thus  the  very  spirit  of  the 
High  Sierras  began  immediately  to  flow  into  them. 

Barely  did  they  give  themselves  time  to  wash  and 
dress  before  they  responded  to  the  dinner  call.  There 
were  no  laggards  at  any  meal  during  the  stay  of  the 
party.  Mountain  air,  in  winter  especially.  Is  provoc- 
ative of  excellently  sharp  appetites,  and  none  called 
for  high-balls,  cock-tails,  or  the  other  "appetizers" 
deemed  so  necessary  to  stimulate  the  jaded  palates 
of  overfed  city-dwellers  In  their  regular  habitats. 

No  sooner  was  the  meal  ended  than  the  fun  began. 
The  first  order  was  to  listen  to  the  reading  of  the 
rules,  which  had  been  framed  expressly  to  meet  the 
requirements  of  this  party.  Some  of  these  rules  were 
as  follows : 

This  is  a  family  party  and  it  is  expected  that  all  will 
radiate  good  cheer,  kindly  feeling,  friendliness  and  jollity. 
Wives  are  expected  to  speak  to  every  husband  except  their 
own,  and  no  husband  is  allowed  to  dance  with  his  own  wife. 

The  management  hereby  gives  notice  that  it  positively 
refuses  to  be  responsible  for  diamond-set  garters,  diamond- 
set  nose  rings  and  other  precious  stones  of  greater  value  than 
Two  Million  Dollars  per  guest. 

As  none  of  our  guests  are  less  than  multi-millionaires  we 
request  that  all  use  as  good  grammar  as  possible. 

[33] 


All  complaints  must  be  made  in  person  to  the  manage- 
ment at  the  hour  of  Two  A.  M.  on  the  crest  of  Dam  No.  1, 
two  miles  away.  It  is  possible  that  before  the  complaints 
are  adjr.sted  both  management  and  guests  will  have  visited 
several  other  dams  in  the  neighborhood. 

It  is  considered  bad  taste  at  this  hotel  to  flavor  your  cof- 
fee with  Worcester  Sauce. 

Guests  are  requested  not  to  find  fault  with  the  coffee  as 
we  never  use  any  cheaper  brand  than  Tarbuggle's,  for  which 
we  pay  seven  cents  a  pound. 

It  is  respectfully  requested  by  the  management  that  guests 
do  not  leave  their  false  teeth  on  the  tables.  Trouble  often- 
times follows,  owing  to  guests  getting  them  mixed. 

Ask  for  everything  you  don't  see  and  the  management 
will  see  that  j^ou  get  it — in  the  neck. 

Unmarried  gentlemen  are  earnestly  cautioned  to  be  care- 
ful against  designing  females.    This  is  LEAP  YEAR. 

No  lady  is  allowed  to  kiss  her  husband  under  the  mistle- 
toe. 

A  class  will  be  formed  daily  for  personal  instruction  in 
mistletoe  customs.  It  will  meet  in  the  hall  each  evening  at 
candlelight.  Gentlemen  desirous  of  receiving  instructions 
w'ill  kindly  apply  to  the  committee  of  education.  Every 
lady  guest  is  chairman  of  that  committee. 

Lessons  on  the  latest  dances,  the  snowshoe  trip,  the  ski 
flop,  the  coyote  lope,  the  rattlesnake  wiggle  and  the  chucka- 
walla  wallop  can  be  obtained  on  application  to  the  manage- 
ment. 

Guests  who  insist  on  stealing  our  red-hot  stoves  are  re- 
spectfully requested  to  wear  gloves.  We  will  not  be  respon- 
sible for  burns. 

Ladies  with  cold  feet  are  requested  to  leave  them  by  the 
open  fire  before  they  retire. 

Parties  of  guests  who  wish  to  discuss  the  war  will  leave 
daily  at  three  A.  M.,  one  for  Kaiser  Crest,  another  for 
King  George  Peak,  and  the  third  for  Hell  Hole.  Those  who 
indulge  in  war  talk  in  the  hotel  will  immediately  be  banished 
to  the  latter  place. 

The  management  respectfully  requests  that  gentlemen 
who  are  in  the  habit  of  jawing  their  wives  refrain  from 
doing  so  after  they  have  retired.  The  room  partitions  are 
thin. 

[34] 


The  morning  after  our  arrival  I  had  the  choice 
set  before  me  of  skiing,  snow-shoeing  or  toboggan- 
ing. Twenty-five  years  before,  I  had  gained  some 
trifling  proficiency  in  the  use  of  skis,  but  never  since 
had  had  opportunity  to  use  them;  so,  instinctively,  I 
leaned  to  the  long,  slim  strips  of  wood  with  turned- 
up  toes  and  fastening  straps  in  the  center,  and  stood 
while  an  obliging  friend  kindly  adjusted  them  to  my 
feet.  As  soon  as  he  gave  the  signal  I  felt  peculiarly 
and  unfortunately  clumsy.  I  was  all  feet,  and  I  felt 
it  would  be  a  great  feat,  indeed  a  pair  of  feet,  to 
make  my  feet  do  the  simplest  thing,  thus  hampered 
by  these  seven-foot-long  shoes.  But  I  pushed  out 
onto  the  level  snow,  and  soon  the  easy  motion  came 
back  to  me.  In  snow-shoeing  one  lifts  the  foot  as 
clear  of  the  snow  as  possible,  and  puts  it  down  again, 
as  in  ordinary  walking;  but  in  skiing  the  shoe  is  slid 
along  over  the  snow.  Only  in  soft  snow,  or  ascend- 
ing a  slope,  does  one  lift  the  ski  from  the  surface. 
It  sounds  easy  enough  when  an  expert  tells  you  to 
glide  along  over  the  snow.  But  snow  is  not  always 
the  same,  neither  are  all  surfaces  as  level  as  they 
ought  to  be  for  a  new  beginner.  After  snow  has 
been  partially  melted  and  then  frozen  it  is  a  very 
different  material  from  what  it  is  when  soft  and  flaky. 
It  is  like  ice,  and  the  skis  slip  over  it  with  a  speed 
and  suddenness  that  are  startling  in  the  extreme — to 
a  tyro.  Then,  too,  when  one  comes  to  an  irregularity 
in  his  pathway,  as,  for  instance,  where  the  snow  has 
partially  melted  around  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  all  roads 
seem  to  lead  to  that  tree;  for,  do  what  one  will,  the 
skis  perversely  slide  forward,  sideways,  backward, 
or  all  ways  together,  down  the  slope.  It  takes  reso- 
lution, courage,  skill  and  strength  to  overcome  these 
perverse  tendencies  of  the  inanimate  skis.  One 
knows  they  are  inanimate,  and  therefore  ought  to  be 
perfectly  under  his  control.  He,  the  human,  the 
mental  being,  reveling  in  the  power  of  thought  over 
mere  material  substance,  ought  to  be  able  to  go  as  he 

[35] 


wills,  zihcre  he  wills,  Jwiv  he  wills,  and  ixhen  he  wills. 
But,  inanimate  or  not,  the  skis  seejii  to  be  the  sub- 
jects of  demoniac  possession.  The  most  will-full  just 
have  to  go  the  way  the  skis  go.  I've  willed  again 
and  again,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  In  plain,  simple 
English,  the  skis  just  ran  away  with  me,  and  I  had 
to  stand  on  them  and  submit.  It  was  humiliating,  of 
course,  but  evidently  necessary  to  my  training,  my 
mental  and  moral  discipline — possibly  my  physical 
discipline.  I  was  told  it  would  be  a  great  strain  upon 
my  ankles,  big  toes,  the  calves  and  thighs,  but,  except 
on  the  toes — which  I  will  explain  later — I  found  the 
strain  to  be  on  my  torso,  but  mainly  on  my  mind.  I 
was  all  the  time  wondering  where  I  was  going  next, 
where  I  should  fall,  when,  how,  and  how  much  it 
would  hurt.  For  I  fell  again  and  again,  sometimes 
forwards,  even  alighting  on  my  elbow,  face,  and 
nose;  oftener  backwards,  dropping  in  such  sudden, 
unceremonious  and  forceful  fashion  that  I  felt  as  If 
a  plledriver  had  suddenly  reversed  and  had  thrust 
my  spinal  column  through  the  roof  of  my  skull. 
Strain  on  my  legs?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  At  the  end  of 
the  week  I  hadn't  a  lame  muscle  down  there  any- 
where, while  my  elbows  were  skinned,  my  face 
scraped,  my  nose  peeled,  my  feelings  hurt,  my  spine 
jarred  from  pole  to  pole,  and  my  torso  strained  from 
center  to  circumference,  and  every  muscle  of  back, 
chest  and  abdomen  as  lame  as  unusual  exercise  could 
make  them.  My  big  toes,  too,  either  because  they 
were  big,  extra  big,  or  merely  because  they  would 
not,  could  not,  should  not,  ought  not,  might  not,  or 
did  not  bend  completely  over,  seemed  especially  to 
attract  the  attention  of  those  perverse  skis.  Every 
time  I  went  down  the  difficulty  was  to  get  up.  No 
matter  how  I  fell — forward,  backward,  sideways, 
circularly,  or  spirally — there  was  but  one  way,  so  it 
seemed  to  me,  that  I  could  get  up.  That  was:  I, 
to  roll  over  until  my  skis  were  not  penetrating  the 
air  In  a  heavenward  direction;  II,  to  get  the  flat  of 
[36] 


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One   of    the    Dams    at    Huntington    Lake,    San    Joaquin    Sierras 


Holding    the    Fort    Against    All    Comers,    Fir^t    Annual    Ice    and    Snow- 
Carnival,    Huntington    Lake 


them — the  underside — down  upon  the  snow.  Now, 
to  do  this,  when  one  was  flat  upon  the  snow,  was  a 
task  that  required  judgment,  ability,  dexterity  and  a 
certain  amount  of  unusual  juggling  with  one's  body, 
legs  and  feet,  that,  to  say  the  least,  didn't  come  easy. 
First  one  side  of  the  body  was  brought  under  control, 
and  one  ski  was  properly  placed.  Then  came  the 
crux,  the  test,  the  final  demonstration  of  ability. 
Bending  forward  on  the  firmly  planted  ski,  one  lifted 
the  other  half  of  his  body  into  line,  and  flipped, 
flapped,  flopped,  or  just  merely  dropped  his  ski  flat- 
side  down  on  the  snow,  and  by  dint  of  careful  and 
skillful  balancing  arose  to  his  feet.  It  was  during 
these  falling,  straightening  over  and  getting-up  proc- 
esses that  one  felt  as  if  his  feet  were  all  big  toes.  The 
strain  on  them  was  tremendous,  and  though  it  is  now 
over  two  weeks  since  the  experience,  my  big  toes  yet 
ache  and  feel  sore  around  the  joints  whenever  they 
hear  the  word  "skis." 

But  falling  and  getting  up  again  was  part  of  the 
game.  The  air  was  pure,  cold,  delicious  and  invig- 
orating. One's  lungs  expanded  in  the  exercise.  The 
whole  body,  brain,  mind  and  imagination  were  exhila- 
rated, oxygenated,  healthfully  stimulated,  and  one's 
sense  of  beauty  constantly  quickened  and  aroused,  de- 
lighted and  satisfied  by  the  snow-laden  trees  around. 
What  did  a  few  tumbles  matter?  Who  cared?  After 
each  fall  I  got  up  again,  sometimes  after  quite  a  little 
rest,  sprawling  on  my  back,  feet  wildly  waving  in  air 
and  looking  strangely  peculiar,  or  peculiarly  strange, 
with  those  long  and  unfamiliar  attachments  to  them. 

But  it  was  when  I  tried  to  slide  downhill  that  I 
awoke  to  the  treacheries,  the  meannesses,  the  lurking 
dangers  of  inanimate  things.  I  saw  a  small  knoll  a 
little  distance  away.  It  was  rounded,  smooth,  and  of 
not  too  steep  approach.  From  one  side  of  it  a  gentle 
slope,  apparently  without  pitfalls,  led  the  eye  down 
toward  the  lake.  Here  was  an  ideal  spot  for  the  ed- 
ucation of  my  ski-sliding,  or  gliding,  or  tobogganing, 

[37] 


or  sledding,  or  whatever  they  call  it,  experiences. 
With  patience  and  care,  caution  and  awkward  bal- 
ancing I  succeeded  in  scaling  the  height.  It  didn't 
look  much,  but  it  felt  like  a  mountain  while  I  ascend- 
ed. Cautiously — nay,  I  might  almost  say,  stealthily — 
I  worked  my  way  around  and  looked  down  the  slope, 
into  the  far-away  level  below.  Dare  I  dare?  Of 
course,  I  had  to — I  must!  So,  inching  along  until 
my  weight  was  on  the  slope,  down  I  went,  gaining  in 
speed  and  losing  in  confidence.  Alas!  twenty  or 
thirty  feet  ahead  was  a  double-track,  transverse  to 
the  course  I  was  now  so  recklessly  pursuing.  It 
looked  like  a  wagon  road  through  the  snow.  The 
woodchoppers  had  made  it,  dragging  in  a  log  on 
their  sled.  But  its  ruts  were  deep,  and  how  was  I 
to  cross  ?  I  didn't  have  anything  to  say  about  it.  My 
thinking  was  neither  quick  enough  nor  of  any  avail. 
The  skis,  the  stiffer  snow,  the  force  of  gravity,  the 
forces  of  nature  totally  uncontrolled  and  uncontrol- 
able — as  far  as  I  was  concerned — were  recklessly 
hurling  me  toward  death,  destruction,  or  disaster.  I 
didn't  know  which  it  would  be.  Long,  long,  long 
before  all  these  things  I  have  written  could  have 
been  put  upon  paper,  the  shock  came.  Of  course,  I 
can  laugh  at  it  now,  but  then — then — ah!  it  seemed 
terrible.  I  lost  my  balance  on  the  first  rut,  was  wildly 
gesticulating  with  all  the  arms  and  legs  a  man  ought 
to  have,  before  I  struck  the  second,  and  then,  rude 
and  ribald  spectators  would  undoubtedly  have 
laughed  themselves  silly  as  I  flopped,  jerked,  floun- 
dered into  the  deep  snow.  How  thankful  I  am  that 
it  was  deep,  also  soft!  Those  facts  mitigated  my 
grief,  also  the  shock. 

But  it  took  me  several  minutes  to  get  up  again, 
and  more  to  decide  that  I  was  not  dead,  or  at  least 
seriously  hurt.  I  would  try  it  again.  I  did  so.  I 
fell  less  harshly  this  time.  Once  more.  A  little 
easier  than  before.  Then  I  instinctively  stooped 
over  and  leaned  forward  when  I  came  to  the  ruts, 
[38] 


Snow    Shoeing   and   Skiing    Party   at    Inspiration    Point 


The    Start    of    one    of    the    Toboggan    Races,     First    Annual    lee    and    Snow 
Carnival,    Huntington    Lake    Lodge 


Riding    '"Belly-Bumper"     Down     the    Toboggan,     First     Ice    and     Snow 
Carnival,     Huntington     Lake     Lodge 


The    Start    of   the    Standing    Race    Down    the    Toboggan,    at    Huntington 
Lake,    in    the    Sierras    of    the     San    Joaquin 


and,  joyful  triumph !  I  went  over  without  losing  my 
balance,  slid  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  felt  prouder 
than  did  Napoleon  after  he  had  crossed  the  Rubicon,, 
the  Alps,  the  Pyramids  or  whichever  or  whatever  it 
was  he  did  cross. 

I  now  began  to  feel  reckless,  and  just  about  this 
time  Mr.  Clendenning,  the  snow-sports  expert  of 
Huntington  Lodge,  came  along,  and  induced  me  to 
climb  a  real  mountain  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake. 
They  tell  me  now  it  was  only  a  goodly  hill — but 
truth  demands  that  I  record  my  own  impressions. 
To  me  it  looked  like  a  mountain;  my  legs  and  lungs 
said  it  was  a  mountain  when  I  spiraled  around  it  to. 
reach  its  summit;  and  my  eyes  confirmed  their  judg- 
ment when  they  gazed  upon  that  awfully  long  and 
steep  slope  which  led  the  eye  down  to  the  flat  and 
deeply  snow-covered  surface  of  the  lake  beneath. 

Would  I  dare  venture  to  slide  down  there?  It 
Seemed  like  a  rude  courting  of  death !  But  others 
had  been  seduced  by  Clendenning's  dulcet  tones,  as 
well  as  myself,  and  one  doesn't  like  to  play  the  cow- 
ard before  another's  watching  eyes.  Rather  dare 
and  fall,  and  be  laughed  at,  than  sneak  away,  fall 
anyhow,  and  be  sneered  at,  as  well  as  laughed  at. 

So  "Here  goes!"  I  cried,  and  down  the  slope  I 
shot.  Yes,  shot  Is  the  proper  word.  I  didn't  glide 
far,  though  that  was  what  I  started  out,  and  fully 
intended,  to  do.  I  think  I  know  now  how  a  shot 
feels  when  it  leaves  a  gun.  It  goes  out  quickly,  but 
easily,  at  first.  Then  as  It  feels  the  friction  of  the 
air  on  its  surface  it  begins  to  roll,  to  tumble,  to 
rock,  and  sway — going  ahead  rapidly  all  the  while — 
until  It  strikes  Its  billet.  So  It  was  with  me.  I 
glided,  glid,  or  glode  for  quite  a  number  of  yards; 
then,  as  my  speed  Increased,  I  swayed,  swid,  or 
swode,  and  finally  fell,  fill,  or  fode,  and  at  once  chaos 
reigned.  First  my  head  was  in  the  lead,  then  my 
feet,  with  the  skis  wildly  waving  in  air,  then  I  went 
broadside,   with   the   right  hand   in   front,   only   to 

[39] 


roll  over  the  next  moment,  and  present  my  left  side 
to  the  cold  air,  which  I  materially  increased  in  tem- 
perature as  I  shot  through  it. 

This  was  "coming  it  a  little  rough,"  but  others 
followed.  Mr.  Walcott  rode  his  skis  like  a  bird, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  J.  G.  Waterman  had  fewer  falls 
than  I.  So  we  kept  at  it,  and  others  joined  us,  until 
our  mountainside  was  alive  with  those  who  were 
speedily  going  down,  slowly  coming  up,  or  rolling, 
tumbling  or  falling  one  way  or  the  other,  while 
the  trees  above  shook  off  their  snow  in  amazement 
and  delight  at  the  shouts  of  merriment,  jollity, 
mock  terror  and  affected  fear  which  arose  on  every 
hand. 

Talk  about  unadulterated  delight!  Here  we 
were.  Most  of  us  men  and  women  from  the  city, 
unused  to  rude  participation  in  Nature's  winter  de- 
lights on  mountain  heights,  yet  already  in  deep  and 
profound  sympathy  with  them,  and  enjoying  them 
to  the  full. 

Snow-shoeing  I  did  not  enjoy  as  much  as  skiing, 
though  many  of  the  party  preferred  the  Indians' 
method  of  going  over  the  snow  than  that  of  the 
Norwegians. 

But  everybody  "went  in  for"  the  toboggan. 
There  was  scarcely  a  member  of  the  party,  old, 
young,  middle-aged,  frivolous,  dignified,  with  whis- 
kers or  without,  who  did  not  take  the  plunge  down 
the  slippery  hillside.  Two  parallel  courses  had  been 
prepared.  A  gang  of  men  worked  for  hours,  dig- 
ging the  slides  of  the  proper  width,  and  smoothing 
down  the  snow  to  overcome  the  bumps  and  irregular- 
ities of  the  hillside.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  the  course 
shot  straight  out  onto  the  frozen  snow-covered 
Huntington  Lake,  and  the  path  was  cut  out  as  far 
as  it  was  deemed  any  toboggan  would  be  able  to  ride. 
A  return  path  was  beaten,  or  dug,  on  the  side  of 
each  slide,  w^ith  snow  steps  up  the  steepest  part  of 
the  hill.  A  score  or  more  of  light,  modern,  tobog- 
[40] 


gans  were  provided,  and  after  a  few  preliminary 
rides  were  taken  by  the  workmen  and  others,  it  was 
declared  they  were  duly  ready  for  the  crowd. 

The  first  evening  after  dinner  was  over,  out  we 
poured.  To  some,  the  sport  brought  back  their  days 
of  childhood,  and  they  were  ready  to  go  down  sitting, 
alone,  with  three  or  more  "laced"  together,  or  alone 
"belly-bumper."  The  men  who  made  the  slide  were 
"on-to  their  job."  The  first  dash  was  smooth,  even, 
and  without  bumps.  Then,  as  the  speed  increased 
the  difl'iculties  began,  A  slight  bump  was  encoun- 
tered, which  jumped  one  up  in  an  unaccountable 
manner,  and  before  one  had  settled  down  again,  he 
struck  a  series  of  them,  which  made  him  think  of 
the  rise  and  fall  of  a  boat  on  the  waves  at  sea.  But 
here  it  was  the  rider  that  rose  and  fell,  and  he  knew 
it  by  the  unceremonious  way  the  sled  underneath 
him  had  of  rising  and  falling  at  the  time  he  was  fall- 
and  rising.  Jolts!  jerks!  bumps! — any  amount  of 
them.  But  this  was  not  all.  Sometimes  the  "bloom- 
in'  "  sled  refused  to  be  steered;  perhaps  it  was  that 
the  steerer  didn't  understand  his  business.  Anyhow 
it  tried  to  run  up  the  bank.  If  it  succeeded  over  it 
went  and  the  rider,  or  the  crowd,  were  tumbled  into 
the  snow,  with  greater  or  lesser  force,  according  to 
the  rate  of  speed  which  had  been  attained.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  steerer  could  right  the  sled,  one 
merely  swayed  to  and  fro,  enough  almost  to  lose 
his  balance — not  quite — and  the  scraping  of  the 
sled  on  the  side  of  the  slide  filled  the  air  with  snow, 
fiercely  driven  into  his  face. 

I  soon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  for  myself  I 
would  attempt  no  steering;  I  would  let  the  sled  go 
as  it  would.  It  was  a  good  policy.  It  went  without 
trouble  every  time,  and,  of  course,  I  gained  a  great 
reputation  for  my  transcendent  skill  as  a  toboggan- 
ist.  (I've  long  contended  that  many  reputations  rest 
upon  just  as  solid  a  foundation  as  this) . 

[41] 


The  following  morning  everybody  was  out — some 
even  before,  but  all  after,  breakfast.  This  was 
called  an  introduction  frolic,  in  which  every  member 
of  the  party  was  introduced  to  the  snow.  The  intro- 
duction in  most  part  was  accomplished  by  the  women 
who,  settling  upon  the  persons  to  be  introduced, 
pounced  upon  and  buried  them  in  the  snow,  battling 
them  until  they  were  assured  the  victim  had  really 
learned  just  what  snow  was. 

Then  each  went  his  own  way,  some  to  ski,  others 
to  toboggan,  others  to  snow-shoe.  But  each  evening, 
after  dinner,  saw  the  crowd  at  the  double  toboggan 
slide,  and  singles,  doubles,  trebles,  and  quadruples 
went  down  as  fast  as  was  possible.  Half  way  down 
the  slide  a  watchman  stood  with  a  lantern  to  give  the 
signal  when  the  course  was  clear,  and  a  director  at 
the  starting-point  alone  was  permitted  to  give  the 
word  Go  !  Thus  all  possibility  of  accident  was  elimi- 
nated, that  is  as  far  as  end-on  collisions  were  con- 
cerned. But  upsets,  overturns,  rollings  in  the  snow 
— they  were  the  joy  of  life  !  No  one  felt  really  happy 
until  he  had  had  the  sensation  of  being  bumped  up 
and  down,  and  then  rudely  flung  or  rolled  out  of  the 
sled  into  the  deep  snow.  What  fun  it  was !  What 
shoutings,  yellings,  laughings,  and  mock  weepings  at 
disaster.  The  women  were  just  as  ready  as  the  men; 
sometimes  more  so,  and  they  took  their  tumbles  as 
philosophically,  merrily,  and  uncomplainingly. 

Great  fun  was  caused  by  a  dog,  belonging  to  Mr. 
D.  J.  Pease,  one  of  the  employees  of  the  Power 
Company.  This  dog  entered  into  the  fun  as  heartily 
as  anyone  there.  Mr.  Pease's  little  daughter  had 
provided  the  dog  with  a  harness,  and  he  pulled  her 
sled  to  and  fro  with  evident  pleasure.  Several  times, 
however,  the  party  started  out  when  he  was  not  har- 
nessed, and  then,  with  his  young  mistress  hanging  on 
to  his  tail,  thus  providing  traction,  he  bounded  along 
as  happy  as  any  of  the  two-footed  participants  in  the 

[42] 


carnival,  radiantly  and  noisily  proud  to  be  In  such 
excellent  company. 

Early  Sunday  afternoon  a  snow-storm  started  and 
beginning  with  light  flurries,  it  soon  increased  to 
great  intensity  though  unaccompanied  by  winds.  Re- 
clothing  the  giant  pines  and  firs  with  great  branch- 
fulls  of  the  sheening  white,  the  storm  added  great 
picturesqueness,  and  although  the  fall  was  heavy,  the 
mildness  of  the  temperature  offered  no  hardship  to 
even  those  unaccustomed  to  snow  or  the  high  alti- 
tude. 

Monday  was  the  big  day  of  the  carnival,  all  of  the 
excursionists  assembling  for  the  great  frolic  pro- 
gram. After  a  general  snowball,  the  crowd  dis- 
persed as  usual,  a  large  group,  however,  going  out  on 
skis  and  snow-shoes  to  Inspiration  Point.  This  is  an 
outlook  point,  close  to  the  summit  of  the  Kerckhoff 
Dome,  at  the  head  of  the  Cable  Incline  of  2000  feet 
descent  to  Cascada,  and  affording  a  wonderful  out- 
look over  Big  Creek  Basin  and  Amphitheater,  the 
Grand  Canyon  of  the  San  Joaquin,  to  the  foothills 
and  the  far-away  San  Joaquin  Valley,  and  even  be- 
yond, to  the  purple  mountains  of  the  Coast  Range. 

Then  came  ski  races  down  the  mountain  slope  of 
the  Island,  and  much  fun  was  caused  by  the  misad- 
ventures of  those  who,  like  the  author,  often  were 
unable  to  preserve  their  balance. 

Just  before  lunch  a  unique  game  was  called.  Four 
tennis  "fiends"  were  determined  to  have  a  game.  The 
tennis  court  was  buried  in  eight  feet  of  snow,  and 
only  some  two  feet  of  the  fence  was  above  the  sur- 
face. Upon  snowshoes  and  with  snowshoes  for 
racquets,  the  game  was  played,  with  sugar-pine  cones 
for  tennis  balls. 

After  lunch,  however,  came  the  final  frolics  at  the 
toboggan  slides.  The  heavy  fall  of  snow  during  the 
night  had  improved  the  course,  deepened  the  snow, 
and  covered  the  hard,  slippery  surface  of  the  past 

[43] 


days  so  that  it  did  not  seem  quite  as  hard  to  fall  upon. 
Speed  and  distance  contests  soon  were  in  order,  and 
one  after  another,  the  pairs  of  combatants  shot  down 
the  slide,  cheered  by  their  respective  fans.  There 
were  no  speed  cops  to  menace  or  measure  with  a  limit, 
and  with  each  slide  the  track  became  slicker,  until  the 
toboggans  drove  down  the  incline  like  the  wind  in  a 
gale. 

At  this  point  I  felt  myself  urged  to  "start  some- 
thing," Coming  up  after  a  particularly  exciting  ride, 
after  listening  to  the  brags  of  the  youngsters,  my 
fighting  blood  grew  warm,  perhaps  hot,  and  I  flung 
out  a  challenge  to  ride  any  youngster  or  oldster  of  the 
party,  both  for  speed  and  distance.  From  Mr. 
Walter  Berten  Clausen's  account  of  this  contest,  in 
the  Fresno  Republican,  I  extract  a  portion  of  the  fol- 
lowing description : 

Dr.  George  Wharton  James,  a  Sierra  author-naturalist 
of  fame,  furnished  much  life  to  the  party,  and  in  the  con- 
test he,  despite  his  age — some  three  score  years — challenged 
the  excursionists  for  a  speed  contest  on  the  slide.  Elmer  A. 
Anderson,  one  of  the  keenest  tobogganists,  volunteered.  The 
race  was  on. 

Starter,  judge  and  referee  were  appointed,  and  it  is  even 
believed  that  bets  of  peanuts,  doughnuts,  chewing  gum  and 
candy  were  placed  on  the  event.  Anyhow,  there  was  an 
abundance  of  good-natured  partisanship,  and  when  the  starter 
gave  the  signal  "Go!"  the  spectators  cheered  and  yelled 
heartily.  Down  the  slide  the  contestants  shot,  the  whiskers 
of  Dr.  James  flowing  behind  him  on  each  side.  Almost  im- 
mediately the  contestants  seemed  to  reach  the  base  of  the 
slide,  and  then,  as  they  raced  out  over  the  level  the  partisans 
above  cheered  first  one  and  then  the  other,  while  the  sleds 
came  to  a  stop,  and  it  was  seen  the  veteran  of  the  Sierras  had 
won  by  over  a  length. 

On  their  return  to  the  starting  point  Dr.  James  was 
loudly  cheered  as  victor,  and  Mr.  Anderson  equally  so  on 
account  of  the  brave  effort  he  had  made.  Then,  suddenly, 
someone  suggested  that,  because  he  had  lost,  Anderson  should 
be  rolled  in  the  snow.     There  are  always  willing  hands  at 

[44] 


such  a  party  for  a  little  "rough-housing,"  so,  in  a  twinkling, 
the  defeated  tobogganer  was  seized  and  thrown  headlong 
into  the  soft  snow,  while  a  dozen  ready  assistants,  male  and 
female,  pretty  nearly  buried  and  smothered  him.  But  Ander- 
son is  something  of  an  athlete,  as  two  or  three  of  those  who 
attacked  him  soon  discovered.  With  skill  and  strength  he 
seized  them  one  after  another,  in  spite  of  the  general  attack 
made  upon  him,  and  hurled  them  ten  feet  away.  Thus  the 
high  revelry  went  on. 

Bye  and  bje  one  enthusiast  challenged  another  to  ride 
"bareback  standing."  It  had  seemed  to  some  of  the  more 
timid  that  it  was  risky  enough  to  go  down  the  steep  slide 
"belly  bumper,"  or  sitting,  but  to  go  standing  "took  away 
their  breath."  Yet  a  bold  spirit  accepted  Mr.  Walcott's 
challenge,  and  in  a  few  moments,  when  all  was  ready,  the 
signal  was  given  to  start.  Walcott  went  off  like  a  shot, 
standing  upright,  and  riding  his  wooden  steed  like  an  experi- 
enced circus  performer,  but  Mr.  's  sled  would  not 

behave.  For  all  the  world  like  a  bucking  and  unruly  bronco 
it  shot  first  to  one  side,  and  tried  to  climb  the  bank,  then  the 
other,  making  its  rider  perform  such  funny  antics  that  every- 
one laughed  until  his  sides  ached,  then,  suddenly,  Walcott, 
nearly  at  the  bottom  of  the  slide,  and  his  competitor  near  the 
top  were  bucked  off  their  sleds,  thrown  into  the  air  and  tum- 
bled over  and  over  in  the  snow. 

Then  someone  dared  Dr.  James  to  ride  "standing."  The 
dare  was  accepted  at  once,  and  a  challenge  given  for  a  com- 
petitive rider.  One  was  immediately  found  and  the  two 
started  off  fairly  well,  but  James  had  not  gone  far  before  he 
was  thrown  head-over-heels,  while  his  competitor  kept  his 
feet,  only  to  be  thrown  fiercely  a  little  farther  down  the 
slide.  James,  however,  recovered  his  sled,  gained  a  quick 
seat  hold,  shot  down  the  incline  and  across  the  level,  thus 
winning  the  race. 

These  were  but  a  few  of  the  exciting  events  and 
are  recorded  in  detail  to  show  how  the  old  became 
young  again  in  the  glorious  winter  surroundings  of 
Huntington  Lake. 

And  who  shall  tell  of  the  fun  in  the  social  hall  each 
evening,  when  the  great  open  fire  roared  itself  red  in 
the  face  of  the  giant  throat  of  a  chimney?     Chestnut 

[45] 


roasting,  corn  popping,  apple  baking,  singing  and 
dancing  obtained  until  a  late  hour.  The  author  was 
called  upon  to  tell  folk-tales  of  the  Indians  who  used 
to  make  their  summer  homes  in  these  mountains,  and 
his  "How  the  Karoks  Got  Fire"  will  doubtless  long 
be  remembered. 

On  Tuesday  morning,  February  22,  the  party  re- 
turned home,  without  a  single  complaint,  kick, 
grouch,  or  note  of  discontent.  All  felt  satisfied  with 
his,  her,  winter  experiences,  and  assured  that  even 
these  few  days  had  given  new  health,  strength  and 
vigor.  So,  unanimously,  the  party  agreed  that,  if 
possible,  it  would  come  again,  in  the  summer  to  see 
this  glorious  region  in  its  summer  garb,  and  then 
the  following  winter  to  renew  their  enjoyments  dur- 
ing this,  the  First  Annual  Winter  Carnival  at  Hunt- 
ington Lake. 


[46] 


After     a     Snow-Storm     at     Head     of     the     Toljoggan     Slide, 
Huntington    Lake    Winter    Sports 


Elmer    A.     Anderson     Accepting    George     Wharton    James's     Challenge    to 
Race    down    the    Toboggan    at    Huntington    Lake    Winter    Sports 


CHAPTER  VII 

MOVIES  IN  THE  SNOW 

THEATERS  may  come  and  theaters  may  go, 
in  this  our  Twentieth  Century,  but  the 
Movies  go  on  for  ever.  Like  the  poor  they 
are  ever  with  us.  And  movies,  too,  are  not  always 
merely  what  they  seem.  In  other  words,  they  may 
appear  to  give  a  mere  story, — a  novel  in  action, — 
yet  they  may,  at  the  same  time,  be  a  most  effective 
piece  of  advertising  of  some  region  of  country  under 
such  conditions  that  it  is  desirous  to  set  before  the 
minds  of  the  people. 

It  was  with  this  latter  thought  in  view,  that  the 
moving-picture  camera  of  Claude  C.  Laval,  of 
Fresno,  the  skilful  and  talented  artist,  whose  beau- 
tiful pictures  illustrate  this  book,  accompanied  the 
"Boosters"  of  the  Fresno  Commercial  Club,  on  their 
first  annual  snow  carnival  at  Huntington  Lake.  Mr. 
Laval  was  the  writer  of  the  scenario,  the  director, 
and,  assisted  by  Oliver  Kehrlein,  the  maker  of  the 
movies.  The  subject  was  The  Ubiquitous  Mother- 
in-Law,  with  the  following  cast  of  characters : 

Mother-in-law Miss  Netta  Sunderland 

Affinity Mr.  B.  M.  Anderson 

Young  Wife Miss  Lorraine  Laval 

Husband Mr.  Ray  Cooper 

Laborer  on  Hand  Car Mr.  Leon  Perraud 

Some  of  the  scenes  were  laid  in  Fresno,  at  Roed- 
ing  Park,  but  the  snow  and  mountain  scenes  were 
taken  along  the  line  of  the  San  Joaquin  &  Eastern 
R.  R.,  and  at  the  Sports  of  the  Winter  Carnival  at 
Huntington  Lake  Lodge. 

[47] 


The  making  of  the  movies  afforded  as  much  fun, 
possibly  more,  to  the  Fresno  party,  as  they  will  to 
the  many  thousands  who,  doubtless,  will  see  them  on 
the  screen.  Some  of  the  scenes  were  uproariously 
absurd  and  ridiculous.  The  outline  of  the  "plot" 
was  somewhat  as  follows : 

A  young  couple  is  seen  seated  on  a  bench  in  a  gar- 
den talking  over  plans  for  their  trip  to  the  Snow  Car- 
nival at  Huntington  Lake.  They  have  visions  of 
what  they  expect  to  see  and  do.  The  young  man 
shows  his  wife  the  proposed  trip  on  map,  tracing 
out  the  route  with  the  R.  R.  tickets.  He  folds  up 
the  map  and  rises  from  the  bench,  when  he  discovers 
that  his  mother-in-law  and  her  affinity  have  been  spy- 
ing on  them.  He  registers  a  determination  that  she 
shall  not  accompany  them.  They  board  the  train. 
Just  as  the  train  disappears  around  a  curve,  mother- 
in-law  and  affinity  appear  on  platform  too  late. 
They  have  missed  the  train.  Navvy  is  seen  pumping 
a  hand-car.  Mother-in-law  rushes  over,  pushes 
laborer  out  of  the  way,  and  boards  hand-car.  Affin- 
ity stands  flabergasted  for  a  moment,  then  draws  a 
"gun"  from  hip-pocket,  proceeds  to  take  an  "injec- 
tion," when  immediately  he  becomes  all  alive  and 
races  after  the  hand-car.  He  jumps  aboard,  and  the 
two  go  racing  after  the  train.  In  the  meantime  the 
young  people  are  enjoying  the  scenery.  The  hand- 
car catches  up  with  train,  and  mother-in-law  and  her 
companion  clambor  over  the  rear  platform.  They 
are  spied  doing  so  by  young  people  who  make  their 
escape  by  climbing  to  top  of  coach.  The  pursuers 
go  through  car,  disturbing  all  the  boosters,  looking 
for  the  young  people,  but  are  unable  to  find  them. 
Crossing  to  the  forward  coach  the  affinity's  head  is 
bumped  by  the  foot  of  the  young  husband,  who  is 
sitting  on  the  roof  with  his  feet  hanging  over.  Re- 
joicing in  their  discovery  the  two  scramble  up  on  the 
roof  and  a  hot  argument  ensues,  which  is  settled  by 
the  son-in-law  agreeing  that  mother-in-law  mav  go 
[48] 


along.  Everything  is  now  serene  until  Cascada  Is 
reached.  Here  the  young  man  assists  his  wife  from 
the  train,  and  the  couple  are  gazing  around  at  the 
scenic  wonders  when  mother-in-law  grabs  the  son  by 
the  shoulder,  and  jerking  him  back,  hands  him  all  the 
suitcases,  and  taking  the  young  wife  by  the  arm, 
starts  for  the  stage.  This  action  is  not  made  more 
agreeable  by  the  affinity  who  "kids"  the  son-in-law, 
as  they  follow ! 

Now  the  scenes  of  the  Snow  Carnival  are  shown, 
the  party  indulging  in  skiing,  snowshoeing,  toboggan- 
ing, etc.  Suddenly  the  mother-in-law  and  her  affinity 
appear  at  the  top  of  the  slide,  accompanied  by  the 
young  couple.  The  young  man  assists  his  wife  onto 
the  sled  and  is  taking  his  place  behind  her,  when 
mother-in-law's  attention  is  drawn  to  them  by  the 
affinity.  She  grabs  the  son-in-law,  pushes  him  off  in 
the  snow  and  takes  his  place,  the  affinity  starting  them 
down  the  hill  and  jumping  aboard,  leaving  the  young 
man  at  the  top  in  a  rage.  On  their  return,  the  hus- 
band starts  in  to  browbeat  his  young  wife  about 
mother-in-law  butting  in  all  the  time.  In  the  mean- 
while mother-in-law  insists  she  is  going  to  take  a  ride 
by  herself.  Affinity  agrees,  peels  off  his  coat,  and 
gives  the  sled  a  start.  In  turning  around  to  wave 
goodbye  to  her  affinity,  mother-in-law's  fingers  be- 
come entangled  in  a  loose  thread  of  the  jersey.  The 
sled  having  started,  the  jersey  rapidly  unravels,  while 
the  young  people  look  on  and  laugh  at  the  predica- 
ment of  the  affinity,  who,  standing  there  admiring  his 
lady-love,  does  not  realize  what  is  happening  until  he 
discovers  the  young  people  convulsed  in  laughter. 
Then,  looking  down,  and  seeing  his  jersey  disappear- 


*While  many  members  of  the  party  saw  the  taking  of  this  por- 
tion of  the  scene,  few  were  aware  how  this  "trick"  is  done.  To 
"movie"  artists  it  is  a  common  event.  To  produce  the  desired  ef- 
fect upon  the  screen  the  films,  showing  the  unraveling,  are  merely 
reversed, — run  the  wrong  way  on — and  the  trick  is  done,  the  mar- 
velous happens,  the  sled  comes  up  the  hill,  and  the  yarn  reknits 
itself. 

[49] 


ing,  he  immediately  grasps  the  yarn  and  begins  pull- 
ing the  sled  back  up  the  slide,  his  jersey  7-eknitling  up 
all  the  zi'hile*  In  the  meantime  the  young  man  has 
an  idea  to  get  even,  so  taking  a  shovel  and  accompa- 
nied by  the  young  wife,  they  proceed  to  the  foot  of 
the  slide  and  dig  a  pitfall  in  the  snow.  At  the  same 
time  mother-in-law  and  her  affinity  have  an  argument 
at  the  top  of  the  slide,  which  is  finally  settled.  She 
proceeds  to  take  another  ride,  her  sled,  of  course, 
dashing  into  the  pit  dug  by  the  young  people  who  are 
hidden  close  by  looking  on.  The  affinity,  at  the  top 
of  the  slide,  is  horrified  at  his  darling's  disappear- 
ance, and  proceeds  to  run  pell-mell  down  the  slide  to 
her  assistance  and  digs  her  out  of  the  snow.  She, 
in  her  anger,  believing  her  accident  was  due  to  his 
carelessness,  pushes  him  into  the  pit.  The  laughter 
of  the  young  people  draws  her  attention  to  them, 
and  it  dawns  upon  her  that  they  are  guilty  ones.  Re- 
lenting towards  her  lover,  she  goes  to  the  pit,  drags 
him  out  and  they  proceed  out  of  the  scene  arm  in 
arm,  with  the  young  people  following,  poking  fun 
at  them.  A  little  later  they  appear  in  front  of  the 
snow  fortress.  As  no  one  is  in  sight,  love-making  is 
in  order.  The  young  people  approach  unseen 
mimicking  them,  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  heads  appear 
above  the  fort,  look  and  behold!  the  boosters  have 
been  watching  them.  A  chase  ensues,  the  four  people 
finally  finding  refuge  behind  a  pile  of  snow  near  a 
cabin.  Here  they  wait  awhile;  then  they  look  out 
to  see  if  their  tormentors  are  still  after  them.  Find- 
ing the  coast  clear,  they  congratulate  each  other  on 
their  escape,  and  everybody  is  happy. 

Even  to  the  staider  members  of  the  party,  the 
rude  horse-play  of  this  "plot,"  was  a  source  of  con- 
siderable fun.  It  gave  them  a  glance  "behind  the 
scenes,"  and  at  the  same  time  revealed  how  a  fool- 
ish thread  of  a  story  might  be  used  to  show  to  thou- 
sands of  people  the  delights  of  the  winter  in  the 
fascinating  region  of  Huntington  Lake  Lodge. 
[50] 


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